Same Stuff, Different Day
by dryskim
Summary: What if things had gone a bit differently at The Pit that fateful day? How would that effect the Modern Warfare 2 Universe? This is that story, the story of Joseph Allen.
1. Sick Day

Despite the laws of the universe, Private First Class Allen had caught a cold. In Afghanistan. In spite of the fact it was 130 degrees in the shade, he had gotten sick. If he was back in Ithaca, his home town, he could've called in sick. But you don't call in sick in the Rangers, especially when General Shepard was looking for talent. Something Allen had in plentiful supply, on a good day. Today? Not so much.

The training of the days group of Afghan Locals had gone poorly. In his weakened, sniffling state Allen had done just as poorly as the untrained locals he was trying to train! To make matters worst some TF141 spook was chosen as the other possible choice for this op.

Even Dunn who usually couldn't tell the two apart aside from name tags on their vests knew Allen as the Ranger dragging an M4A1 carbine while rubbing green mucus along his already slime-covered BDU sleeve.

"Damn man," smirked Dunn, arms crossed looking in the sick Private's eye's. "you look like shit. Still wanna give it a go?"

"Y-yeah…" mumbled the sick soldier, nearly gagging on the stream of snot running down his throat.

"Look Allen, I know you got a reputation and all but-" said the Corporal, in an oddly concerned manner which was in direct opposition to his normally sarcastic way of speaking. "-but don't kill yourself, I mean hell you're competing against one of the General's lap dogs. But I ain't stopping you. It's your call."

Wobbling, Allen took his place at the starting line. He took off in his best sprint, which instead looked like a sick cross between a drunken-baby learning to walk for the first time. Needless to say, he fell on his ass. His M4 barked as he unloaded on the two pop-up targets. Struggling to his feet he ascended the stairs of the cinderblock building clutching the hand rail for support and ditching the empty carbine unceremoniously on the ground. Withdrawing his M9 he reached the top, only to be scared shit-less by another pop-out target. Dunn's screaming over his headset told him to knife the paper cutout. However, he lacked the strength in his arms so the target failed to realize he had if fact stabbed it. He quickly crawled under the obstructive target and triggered three targets, he shot each with the M9 only to hear the shrill buzz that accompanied a dead 'civilian'. Dropping down to the ground he landed in a heap on his face, after getting his pitifully weak body off the ground he ran full-speed (more like a stumble) while unloading his handgun in what could only be called a failed attempt to repeat the awesomeness of Tropic Thunder's epic pistol run, only unlike the film three civilians were killed in result.

Gasping for air Allen asked "How'd I do?"

"Well, four civies dead, and you missed eight targets.. so you got a time of 120 seconds." said Dunn, in a melancholy mood.

Promptly, Allen vomited over the entirety of Dunn's combat boots.

Shepard was anything but impressed.


	2. Goin' To Town

**Goin' To Town**

After dropping off Allen with a passing Medic who wasn't going on the assault, Dunn had then boarded his Humvee and began the journey. Apparently, a bunch of rag wearing militia men had gotten together and destroyed the one bridge in. The only problem was they didn't know the Rangers had a bridge layer vehicle. It had been two hours of ass numbing for Dunn before he realized this would be his first mission without Allen since the Private arrived six months ago. He surveyed his surroundings only to realize like every other part of the desert looked exactly the fucking same. Same damn rocks, same damn sand. He wondered what Allen was up to.

Allen awoke with the worst headache of his life. Worst then when he had found Dunn's Secret Porn Stash his second day overseas, and that had ended with his face in the dirt, and a Desert Eagle aimed at his head. Sitting up he realized that he was sitting in the medical ward.

"Ah, you're awake. That's good." said a voice from his left. Allen looked over to his left, their he saw a heavily bandaged Ranger having a cigarette.

"What happened? Where is everybody?" asked Allen.

"They're headed to town right now," spoke the soldier, taking a draft from his cigarette. "you see these bandages?"

Allen nodded. It was pretty damn obvious.

"Bastards blew the bridge, killed my buddies. That's were I got these." he said pointing to the bandages crisscrossing his face and neck.

"Wait, they left me?!" shouted Allen, both in anger and fear that he had been replaced.

Dunn then realized that the soldier to his left was not one of his squad mates. In fact, from the look on his face it was clear that he was a new recruit, fresh from the world.

"You ok?" asked Dunn, noting the recruits pale face.

"Y-yeah.." mumbled the recruit, Dunn may have not been the sharpest crayon in the box but he knew when someone was lying to him.

"Look man, it's ok to be freaked out," Dunn said in his most fatherly tone possible "but you'll be fine. I mean com'on who'd wanna mess with us?"

When the Humvee driver shouted "RPG!" Dunn knew exactly who wanted to mess with them.


	3. School's in Session

**School's in Session**

"Dunn, take point," urged Foley, the ensemble of Rangers behind him, including one pale faced recruit by the name of Ramirez. "We'll Cover you."

"Hooah." said the Corporal, he hated going on point. It left you vulnerable something Dunn didn't like in the slightest. But if Foley told him to do it. it meant he had an obligation to do it even if he didn't want to. It was how the Army worked. Eventually, Dunn's mind wandered as he continued to meander through the dilapidated school searching for hostiles. He found it humorous that a two hour drive had lead to a five minute ride through town and a two minute shoot out in an elementary school. He for one didn't think all the wasted gas was worth it.

"Alright, since you can jabber this much you must be good enough to help me." said the bandaged soldier, his cigarette held between his fingers.

"Help you with what?" asked Allen, putting his BDU's on in place of his hospital gown.

"You'll see." replied the soldier with a smirk, and walked out into the desert sun.

Dunn was just about to give the all-clear when he was suddenly knocked to the ground, his vision blurry, and the taste of blood in his mouth. He looked up to see his attacker, a burly Afghan man standing over him. He keyed his radio and said in a low voice "Need backup ASAP. Repeat, need backup." Until then he was on his own.

"You've got to be kidding me." groaned Allen, already wishing he'd been stricken with more than a twenty four hour flu. The barracks that Taskforce 141 used were in shambles. Empty beer cans and food wrappers lay everywhere and MEAT WAZ HERE was scribbled on the wall. It looked more like a frat house then a military barracks. The smoking soldier approached carrying a mop and bucket, as he neared he said "Shepard want's this place spotless. You'd best be getting to that." With that the man left. Allen silently cursed the soldier's rank of Corporal and promptly got to washing.

The Afghan drew up his heavy boot in an effort to crush the Corporal's skull but instead crushed nothing as the Corporal rolled out of the way and drew his M9 handgun. However, the large man was faster then he looked and slapped away the M9 like a children's toy. As the two men continued to struggle over the dropped gun, a pale faced Ramirez arrived at the end of the hall.

Dunn shouted "Shoot the sonofabitch!"

Fear stayed the rookie's trigger leaving the Afghan free to begin crushing Dunn's windpipe. In a final act of defiance he kicked the large man in the groin, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. But the Afghan wasn't ready to give up just yet. He slammed Dunn against a cheap wooden desk, shattering it into a million pieces. Dunn rolled over just in time to see a Desert Eagle, chambered and aimed at his head. In his last moments his mind wandered once again and he realized the sad irony of the whole situation.

All through life he hated school and now he was gonna die in one.

**All characters in this fanfiction belong to their respected owners I by no means own any part of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2. **

**And I'd really appreciate reviews, I'd like to know if I'm doing a good job or a not so good job.**

**Thanks for reading this drabble I call a story.**


	4. Old Man Foley

**Old Man Foley**

Foley was getting old. He knew it. Hell, his daughters reminded him every time he came home. And now Ramirez had managed to outrun him. He was past his prime, time to retire, raise the family he was too busy to be with. Rounding a corner he found his face buried in Ramirez's back.

"What the hell?" he asked in bewilderment, "Why'd you--"

Then he saw what had stopped the Private cold. A husky Afghan had Dunn at gunpoint. Quickly, he shoved the Private out of the way and brought his SCAR-H to bear. He fired a burst of three rounds into the terrorists torso, killing him. He watched the Afghan fall, then moved to help Dunn.

The following day news was passed around of a possible return home and even better news that the war was over. In a way Foley wanted to believe it but deep down he had feelings of doubt. "Just more rumors." he thought to himself.

That was until General Shepard himself informed the Rangers of their return home. It was official. It was over. All the killing was done, no more nights praying tomorrow's the day you can go and see your honey again. This was real.

The plane ride had probably taken close to eight hours but to Foley it might as well have been eight minutes. Stepping out of the cargo plane he inhaled the hot Savannah air. The smell of home. The scent he had thought he would never smell again, the dry air, the cotton fields. When he inhaled, his childhood memories came over him like a wave and at that moment he finally realized that everything was going to be alright.

He slowly strolled through town, noting the changes since he had left. Finally, he reached his place of residence. He quickly rapped on the door which was opened by an eight year old with thick rimmed glasses who shouted deeper into the house "Mom! Their's a creepy old guy here!"

Foley winced, his own daughter. His flesh and blood didn't remember him. Another voice of the past replied "Alright, I'll get it. You wash up for dinner. And tell your sister to turn off her damn music!"

"Yes, momma." came the reply.

The woman finally appeared in the doorway and when she saw him, she choked out, "Sean.." Soon the tears fell.

Holding her close he whispered "That's right baby. I'm home."

**And that's all she wrote! I'd like to thank my wonderful proof reader for dealing with me. As always please review! **


	5. Family Reunion

**Family Reunion**

Allen cringed as he ascended the stairs leading to his families' home in Ithaca, New York. He felt awkward as he knocked on the door, it had been six months after all. And it wasn't like he called ahead. Slowly, the door creaked open until an eyeball was barely visible beyond. Suddenly, the door swung open and he found himself being embraced by a strange woman. But the nostalgia came back like a wave and he whispered "Sarah,"

Stepping back she said "Yeah, it's me. You finally made it back to see us, little brother?"

He gave her a quick once over. No wonder he didn't recognize her, last time he'd saw her was when she came running into his going away party, crying that her boyfriend had left her, and that she was pregnant. That was an odd going away party. Given he was her brother he wasn't exactly at liberty to comment on her physical attributes.

"Yeah, sorry I didn't call," he said, rubbing his neck as he always did when nervous.

As if to break up the awkwardness filling the air between the two siblings, a small figure toddled into the door way, a small voice piped up "Mommy? Who is that man?"

"This is your Uncle Joe. Say hi to Uncle Joe, Davy." she cooed.

"Hi, Uncle Joe." came the muffled reply as the toddler forcefully attached itself to the female Allen's leg.

Trying to the break the ice, Allen asked "So, where's everybody else?" Noticing, the toddler seemed to try and avoid his gaze.

"Mom and Dad are out on errands. Jenna's upstairs 'working', and Jake's at school." replied Sarah, trying to calm a worried Davy.

Allen sighed, the reference to Jenna being at 'work' stemmed from the fact that her main source of income came from the phone-sex line she operated from her room at the Allen home. He wasn't necessarily approving of her doing this to begin with, but with a baby in the house? Hell, if his mother knew she'd have a fit.

Following his sister inside he found that not much had changed since he left for Afghanistan, six months ago. Same Purple Heart his dad had earned in the Gulf War, only now a picture of Allen in his Army Ranger uniform was hung next to the metal. Slowly, he made his way to the living room while trying to keep the audible moaning from upstairs from getting to him, he'd already scared the kid enough just showing up. No use in worsening that by screaming at his sister who got off for creepy old men who paid to listen to it.

Stopping at the mantle, he looked over the pictures strewn across it's surface. Most were the same ones he'd seen countless times during his youth. But their was a picture Allen hadn't seen before, but something about it felt like he'd seen it before. The picture was laying with the image face-down. Turning the photograph over in his hands, he realized it was of Sarah, before the pregnancy. She was in the arm's of an oddly familiar man. He couldn't quite place him, he was thin and lanky as well as having a scruffy beard and long shaggy brown hair.

"Hey, Sis. Who's this?" he asked, showing her the picture. He knew it was her old boyfriend, the one who'd got her pregnant, then left her. Allen was sure if he ever got a hold of the sick bastard he'd make sure he was equally repaid for all the pain he'd caused Sarah.

She looked at the floor, then with her eye's still trained on the floor, she muttered "His name was Jake. Jake Dunn."

Allen's jaw hit the floor. Dunn. His best friend, had caused his sister this much pain.

"You okay?" she asked, noticing his furrowed brow and clenched fists. "It's okay, I've forgiven him. Plus, he gave me Davy." Her gaze going to the two-year old playing with alphabet blocks at her feet.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he paused, unsure of how to go on, "It's just, you remember how I invited my Army buddy over?"

She nodded.

"That friend, his name is Jake Dunn.


	6. Dunn Right

**Dunn Right**

Dunn slowly pulled his battered car into the available space in front of the Allen home. It had been hell trying to find the place. Slowly, he exited the car. No reason to rush, he was early anyway.

Allen wasn't quite sure whether his sister was gonna bite his head off or not. He'd essentially told her he'd called the man who broke her heart, over for dinner. But instead she continued to stare at the floor. Rubbing his neck as he did when nervous he said, "Look, if it bothers you this much.. I'll.. I'll tell him it's been cancelled."

"No. It's not that I don't want to see him, it's just," she paused, and from Allen's point of view appeared to be studying the patterns of the carpet, "it's been so long… I mean will he even remember me?"

Before Allen could even give anything that resembled advice the doorbell rang.

Dunn was nervous. Sure he'd been nervous plenty of times but this time was different.

"I mean it's just Allen's family," he thought, "what could go wrong?"

The sound of locks being unlatched cut Dunn from his personal dilemmas and back to the present.

Allen pulled the door aside, there on his front porch stood Jake Dunn. A two-headed coin, on one side a good friend. The other a heartbreaking prick. Allen led him inside.

As if Dunn wasn't already worried enough about this visit, Allen kept giving him the stink eye. After awhile the moaning drifting down the stairs and into the living room were too much so he had to ask, "Uh, what's with the moaning?"

Allen said, deadpan "Jenna, my sister. She's a whore."

This statement caught Dunn off guard, it wasn't the whole 'my sister's a whore' part it was how Allen said it. Almost if it wasn't his sister's fault but somehow Dunn's. "What's his deal?" though Dunn to himself. "What's got him so pissed at me?"

With a sigh Allen said "Ok, that came off differently than I wanted it to. Look, Dunn we're best friends, right?"

"Yeah, you know that. Is something wrong?" asked Dunn, sensing Allen wasn't asking just to make sure they were still bro's, their had be an underlying meaning.

Allen drew a crinkled photograph from his pocket and flipped it over so Dunn could see the image.

Seeing the picture Dunn grunted "Where the hell'd you find that?"

"Got it from my, sister."

"And why the fuck would she have a picture of me?"

"Because, she's the woman in the photo." said Allen calmly, in opposition to Dunn's angry attitude.

"I don't remember ever having anything to do with your damn sister." Dunn said through gritted teeth.

"Here. I'll remind you." said Allen, with a smirk. "Two years ago. Girl named Sarah. You left her. Ring any bells?"

"Not a one." whispered Dunn, "Met a lot of Sarah's in my time. What makes this one so special?"

"She had your child for starters. Secondly, you left her pregnant and heartbroken. How 'bout now? Remember that part?"

"Like I said, I don't remember your fucking sister!" shouted Dunn, his anger boiling over. What the hell was Allen's deal? He didn't remember getting no babe pregnant.

"Oh, well I remember you.." said said Sister, entering the room.


	7. Not Our Finest Hour

**Not Our Finest Hour**

Turning back to Allen, Dunn shouted "Like I fucking said before I don't remember your goddamn sister!"

"Dunn, just calm down man.." said Allen, trying to defuse this already hazardous situation.

"You fucking calm down! You're the one who came in here pointing fingers at me! I don't remember her!" he returned, pointing a accusatory finger at Sarah. His anger boiling over into rage. His hand's balled into fists. Allen tensed in case Dunn decided to him out, while sidling into position so he'd have more room to maneuver if that became the case.

"Stop it, calm down. You're acting like your father." said Sarah, trying to hold Dunn back to prevent him from lashing out at her brother. Only Allen knew it was no use, if Dunn wanted to he could throw her out of the way like a rag doll.

Glaring back at her, he spat "And what would you know about my father?"

Turning him so he was facing her, she said "I know how he beat you," slowly running her hand through his hair until she found the scar he tried to conceal with his hairline. "That's were you got this."

"How'd you know that?" he asked, fists uncoiling his temper cooling. However, she did forget that his father's favorite method of beating his children involved a baseball bat.

"Because, you told me," she paused so her words could sink in, "just like how you told me how you planned to join the Army to prove you were a better person then your father. How you wanted to show the world you weren't the same cold abusive person he was. What happened to that dream?"

"I grew up. I figured out real fast that the world didn't give a damn about me. I joined up because I had no where else to go."

"But what about me? What about us? I swore we had something."

"What about us? If I remember correctly you were the one looking at other guy's! Hell, I caught you cheating on me with Casey Wheeler! So don't blame this on me! Whether you knew it or not I knew my place! So, yeah I left. But did you really think we'd end up some Cinderella couple? This ain't no fantasy. So when I caught you with Casey, I moved on. I figured you'd done the same."

She remained silent, but that silence soon broke into uncontrolled sobs. Dunn recoiled, he was like his father. A self-centered abusive monster. Shoving past Allen he made his way to the door.

"Where the hell are you going?" asked Allen, trying to console his sister.

"Out. I..I need time to think. Clear my head.. T-tell her, I'm sorry.."

And with that he disappeared outside.

Allen wasn't exactly the best around crying people, it always made him feel awkward. But he had to try, for his sister's sake. But he needed answers.

"Sarah, look at me." he said, moving her head so she was making eye contact. Her face a mess of running make-up and matted hair, "Was he telling the truth? D-did you really cheat on him?"

Allen couldn't believe he would be the one to question his sister's commitments.

"Y-yes…" came the reply, mixed in with sobs. Her answer hit him like a punch to the chest.

"Is their a chance this Wheeler guy is the father?" asked Allen, referring to Davy.

"Yes.." again came as the answer.

He really couldn't believe he was the one asking this question.

"Did you ever have sex with Dunn?"

"No.." came her muffled reply.

"So you lied.." the realization hurt the most. She had lied, Dunn wasn't the father. He was just the scapegoat. And he had been too busy pointing fingers to ask for Dunn's side.

Standing up to full height Allen headed for the door.

The pitiful heap asked "Where are you going? Don't leave me!"

"This is how Dunn felt," said Allen, not at all feeling sorry. At least that's what he told himself. In all reality he felt as if his heart had been torn out, burned, minced and then put back in wrong. Luckily, he knew where Dunn always headed when he needed to think.

Ramirez removed another cookie off the cooling-rack. He'd managed a trip to see his Granny. She was a sweet old woman who had a smile for everyone, and could brighten anyone's day.

"You act like you haven't eaten in days," came her voice drifting into the kitchen.

"It's not that, I just haven't had a good cookie in a while." he said, watching as she removed the second tray from the oven.

"You realize I bought those cookies at the store?"

"Yeah, it's just the Army can't even afford kind."

Munching the fresh-baked cookie Ramirez thought back to his squad mates. He wondered whether their lives were as interesting as his. He decided his life paled in compared to anything Allen or Dunn were doing.

Dunn slowly turned the heavy gun over in his hand. His grandfather's Colt 1911.45. A family heirloom. The weapon his grandfather had used way back when he was a bombardier on a B-17 during World War II. The finish was dull and in several places worn clean off. He released the magazine, and caught it before it struck the pavement. Satisfied with the load he reinserted the magazine and pulled the slide back, letting it go with a hearty 'thwack!'

Allen was disheartened by what he saw when he reached Dunn's 'thinking place'.

Before him stood Dunn, a M1911.45 clutched in his hand. Seeing Allen approaching he brought the gun up and pulled the trigger.


	8. Caught in the Act

**Caught in the Act**

Vladimir Makarov, the most dangerous man in the world and Gary 'Roach' Sanderson was in the same room as the man. The spiky haired villain was pouring over blueprints while planning his 'next big scheme'. Roach AKA: Alexi Borodin, slowly sneaked away and into the safe houses small bathroom. Quickly, he opened his phone to signal the rest of the Taskforce that now was the time to strike.

Meanwhile, Makarov was still feverishly working out his plan, when he tried to take a swig from his coffee he realized their was none.

"Anatoly, what is the meaning of this?" he asked.

"What, sir?" came Anatoly's nervous reply.

"Why did you drink me coffee?"

"Sir, I didn't drink you coffee. You did, you've been working for three hours."

"Are you calling me a liar?" he shouted, drawing his M9 and aiming at Anatoly's skull.

"N-no, sir. Not at all."

"Good." said Makarov, holstering his pistol and returning to his plans. "Get me a cup to replace the one you drank."

"Yes, sir." grumbled Anatoly. He exited the small apartment and headed down to the Burger Town that was operated across the street, on his way he noticed a suspicious man with a Mohawk and clad in a thick sweeter heading towards the apartments. But Anatoly wrote him off as a tourist.

Outside the bathroom, stood Lev and he really had to piss.

"Borodin! Get out of the bathroom! I have to piss!" he bellowed.

"One minute!" came the reply.

"I will not wait one minute!" yelled Lev, crossing his legs in a futile attempt to keep from pissing all over the place. "Now stopping touching yourself and get out here!"

MacTavish nodded towards the door to Makarov's room. Meat and Royce covered the rear entrance in case Makarov tried to make a room for it while Scarecrow and Ozone took the front door with MacTavish. Behind the Mohawk wearing Captain stood Ghost, it his right hand he held a silenced MP5K in his right, a car battery.

"What the 'ell's the car battery for?" asked the Captain, clutching his silenced M4A1 while Ozone readied the breaching charge.

"Jest in case we need to make 'em talk." said Ghost, with a shrug.

"I see." This was followed by the door to Makarov's room exploding into a shower of wood splinters.

Anatoly had waited for ten minutes while the fat woman had picked her food. Damn her, now he was late. Makarov was going to suspect something and have his head for it! Makarov hated tardiness almost as much as he hated American's. Finally, he received the coffee and returned to his car. When he tried to start it, nothing happened. Grumbling, he exited the car and popped the hood.

"Who the hell stole my car battery!" he shouted, causing several passerby's to give him odd looks.

At the sound of the breaching charge, Roach kicked down the door to the bathroom and put his USP.45 to the side of Lev's head.

"Oh, you've got to be shitting me.." grumbled Lev, both at the handgun aimed at him and his newly pissed on pants.

The squeaky voiced Kiril already had his head buried in the carpet with Ozone standing on him, the fully loaded MP5K keeping the otherwise talkative terrorist oddly quiet.

MacTavish had tied Makarov to the dining room chair while Ghost had cleared off the blueprints and schematics to make room for his car battery. Menacingly, he began sparking the wires.

Anatoly slammed the hood shut, causing people on the street to quake in fear. He then grabbed the coffee and began the long walk back to the apartment complex. When he reached the parking lot he saw smoke emanating from the safe house, so he removed his phone from his pocket and dialed 911. Smirking, he took a drink from the Styrofoam cup. Now he just had to wait.

Having attached the wires, Ghost prepared to thumb the control to electrocute the terrorist leader. But a hand descended before he could activate it. It belonged to MacTavish, nodding in Roach's direction "Let 'em do it. He did all the work."

None to happy about this new arrangement, Ghost stepped away from the vile button and waved Roach forward. Quickly he explained the operation of the button to the wide-eyed soldier. "Alright, you wanna start off light. Give 'em too much juice and you'll kill 'em. We want him alive, got that?"

Roach nodded.

"Alright, then give it a go."

Right as Roach placed his hand on the button, the room was swarmed with FSB troops.

"Shite." muttered Ghost.

Taking his cue, Makarov shrieked "Oh, thank god you came! They've been torturing me for hours! It you hadn't came they would have surely killed me!"

The SWAT team quickly turned their rifles on the TF-141 men.

"Double shite." muttered Ghost.

**The introduction of Taskforce 141! And as always read and review!**


	9. Blame it on the Roach

**Blame it on the Roach**

"Put the gun down!" shrieked Allen, currently Dunn had the Colt trained on his head and didn't show a sign of putting it down.

"I said put the gun down!" repeated Allen, drawing his M9 service pistol.

"I heard you first time." said Dunn, in contrast to Allen's fearful look was almost peaceful. "But I wouldn't."

And with that he pulled the trigger.

What followed was a hollow click, followed by uncontrolled laughter.

"Ha! Had you going with that one!" laughed Dunn, "You really think I'd cap myself?"

Allen was still attempting to comprehend the situation.

"Close your mouth, you're gonna catch flies." said the Corporal, giving the Private First Class a pat on the shoulder, "Ok, so maybe it wasn't the best joke but still."

This was followed by Allen's fist colliding with the side of his face.

"Allen, what the hell?" asked Dunn, clutching his face.

"You scared the shit out of me, man!" shouted Allen, his fists still in the ready position.

**"****Look, I'm sorry. How 'bout we go to Nate's like we used to." pleaded Dunn, then with a grin he added, "Drinks on me?"**

"**Ok, you got me." said Allen, helping Dunn to his feet, "But next time, I won't be so forgiving.**

"**I'll remember that." **

**Twenty minutes later the duo found themselves at Nate's Sports bar and Grille. Dunn was treating himself to a beer while Allen picked at the plate of cold bacon cheese fries that they had ordered two hours prior. **

"**Look man, since your family already thinks I'm the dad, I'll pay for child support and all that shit." shouted Dunn, in order for Allen to hear him over the obnoxiously loud music that played at the bar.**

"**You sure you ain't drunk?" retorted Allen, "Besides my parents need to know the truth. About everything."**

"**It'll be easier this way, but the part about your other sister," said Dunn, taking a bite of the bacon covered fry, "they probably outta know."**

**The five TF-141 soldiers found themselves trapped in a cell in a Moscow prison. Meat and Royce had been able to escape capture. **

"**Bullocks." muttered Ghost, for once he was in a situation that he couldn't shoot, stab, or grenade, his way out of. That and the guards had confiscated his mask, since then he'd been sitting in the corner looking away from the other trooper's.**

"**Why's he sitting in the corner?" asked Ozone, jabbing Scarecrow in the ribs.**

"**He doesn't want anyone to see his face." came the reply.**

"**Is their a reason?" **

"**Dunno. Why don't you ask him." said Scarecrow, turning to face Ozone, "I'll give you five bucks."**

**Jutting in, Roach said "I heard he wears it because underneath it he's fuck ugly."**

**Either Roach had said it too loud or Ghost had outstandingly acute hearing because he growled, "Roach, what did you say?" **

"**N-nothing, Sir!" **

"**That's what I thought."**

**Ozone and Scarecrow only snickered.**

**Nikolai was enjoying his time away, it was nice to finally have the time to curl up with a good book by the fire without the threat of enemy snipers. But his concentration was broken by the ringing of his cell phone. **

**Grumbling, he put the book down and picked up the phone, not recognizing the number he closed the phone as suddenly as he had opened it.**

**MacTavish's fist collided with the wall, "Dammit!" he shouted.**

"**I assume you didn't get an answer." quipped Ghost, his hood over his head so no one could see his face.**

**MacTavish just glared at him, silently he passed a slip of paper to Ghost as his second in command got his one call. **

**For the second time in five minutes, Nikolai's phone rang. Tossing the book aside he snapped up the phone, "Who the hell is this? What do you want?" he shouted into the receiver.**

"**Uh, this is Ghost. I-" began the man on the other end of the line.**

"**Is this some kind of joke? Because if it is I'm going to hang up on you."**

"**NO! I-I'm calling on behalf of MacTavish."**

"**Soap?"**

"**What? No, Mac-Tavish!" shouted Ghost, emphasizing the syllables.**

"**Yes, Soap."**

"**Whatever! We need you to come to Moscow! And bring enough bail money for two of us!"**

**The three lower ranking members of the Taskforce coughed in unison.**

**With a sigh, Ghost said "Make that enough for five.."**

"**Da, I will be their in forty-eight hours."**

"**Alright, thanks mate." And with that Ghost returned the phone to it's usual place.**

**Foley found himself on his front porch enjoying a nice warm cup of coffee while reading the Sunday paper. But what he saw caused him to spit the scalding hot coffee all over his lap. The day's headline read, US soldier breaks Geneva Convention! Below the headline was an image of young man wearing a hat adorned with the American flag, about to toggle the switch that would send electricity through the body of the Russian who was strapped to a chair. The Russian Federation claimed that the American had been torturing the Russian for several hours before SWAT team's arrived on scene. The possibility of war was being tossed around. **

"**Just my luck." muttered Foley, trying to clean the spilled coffee off his pants.**

"**I don't remember wearing that hat," said Roach, still trapped in the jail cell looking over MacTavish's shoulder at the image in the newspaper.**


	10. Fatherly Advice

**Fatherly Advice**

The second day of the Task Forces imprisonment was about as eventful as the first. Today, the members of the 141 decided, was the day of their escape. During the night, Roach had been forced to dig a hole through the solid concrete wall to freedom. The only problem was the next morning he realized that their was no way in hell MacTavish's bulky frame could fit through the hole.

"Shite," muttered MacTavish, examining the hole. "You'll have to leave me behind."

"Not a chance in hell, sir." said Ghost, patting the Captain on the shoulder "We all go or no one goes at all."

The other members all groaned.

Ramirez's flight had arrived early so he decided he might as well get some range time in before Allen and Dunn returned. After checking in with the half-asleep range instructor, he retrieved his M9 and SCAR-H for good measure.

Quietly, he stepped up to an unoccupied lane, which in this case was all of them as the rest of the unit was enjoying it's weekend off before party today. Just like basic he brought the rifle's sights to his eye, centered the man-sized target in the front sight and pulled the trigger. Just like basic he managed to put all the rounds into the torso of the target, which he was happy about. The only problem was, Ramirez wasn't good under pressure. Which in his line of work is not a good thing.

From somewhere behind him someone let out a low whistle, Ramirez turned to see that that man was Foley.

"Sir," he said, giving the Sergeant a crisp salute, whether anyone was there or not didn't change the fact he outranked Ramirez.

Foley batted the salute away as if he were batting away a fly, "As you were." replied the Sarge, hitting the button that brought the target back to the shooter. Once again he whistled, "That's some pretty fine shooting, son. I'd like to see you shoot like that in the field."

"Well, sir.. I-" stuttered Ramirez, looking at his boots.

"You're not good under pressure.." said Foley, using his fatherly tone.

After an unhealthily long pause Ramirez said, "Yes, sir." He was almost ready for the old soldier to slap him, or berate him. Instead he got a pat on the back.

"You remind me of a soldier I once knew."

"R-really?" asked Ramirez, finally removing his gaze from the floor.

"Yeah, you remind me of Allen when he first joined." said Foley, with a smile. "So I think I know how to get you to calm down and start kicking ass."

"Allen, Allen get up." The voice kept insistently buzzing in Allen's ear, it even permeated his dreams. "Allen, wake up."

Groaning, but due to a severe headache and an overall lack of sleep, Allen sat himself up in his bed. "What time is it?" he muttered, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

Dunn, fully dressed in his uniform, replied "It's about 3AM."

"You woke me up at 3AM?" shouted Allen, throwing a pillow at Dunn.

"Dude, shut up or you'll wake the whole damn house. Besides, we need to be back at base at three in the afternoon. Don't want to be late."

"I hate my life," muttered Allen trying to find his pants. "And tell me again why we're driving the whole way to Georgia?"

"You remember, I'm afraid of planes."

Finally finding his pants, Allen added "Right, next time. You'll be driving by yourself."

By the time noon had came, Ramirez was soaked with sweat. Foley had him running The Pit almost nonstop. It was good training for him to get better at taking down targets on the move but still he wasn't shooting at real people. He had no problem killing paper cutouts.

"Alright, that's enough." shouted Foley, "You did good Ramirez, you did good. Let's head out and grab a hot meal 'fore the festivities start."

"Sounds good to me." gasped Ramirez, toweling off some of the sweat.

As the duo was making their way across the parking lot a beat-up car swerved in front of them, the driver side window rolled down to reveal Allen, Dunn in the passenger seat, sleeping.

"How ya doin' Sarge?" asked the driver, he nudged Dunn but he just shrugged and rolled the other way, his back to the others.

"Real good," gesturing towards Dunn he asked "What's with him?"

"We've been on the road since 3AM, needless to say he's tired." said Allen, stepping out of the car, and giving his back a good crack. Turning back to the car he slammed the door and locked it.

"Wait, what about Dunn?" inquired Foley, about the man still dozing inside the car.

"Eh, he'll be fine." shrugged Allen.

**It's official! I've actually managed to make it to the double digits! And for everyone who's reviewed I thank you! As to my proof reader, I thank you as well! **

**As Always Read and Review! **


	11. Party Animals

**Party Animals**

The Ranger's return home celebration was a grand success. If you count drunk soldiers and half-naked women as a success. This was one of the reasons Foley never took his wife to one of the parties. He and Ramirez sat at the bar while Allen mingled with the crowd. As Ramirez ordered his second Root Beer of the evening on account of being too young for alcohol, Dunn marched in. He wore a scowl that didn't fit with his normally laid back attitude, his right hand was rapped in a piece of cloth that was soaked through with patches of blood.

"Allen!" he shouted, causing the party-goers to recede leaving the Private alone in the middle of the dance floor. "You locked me in the car, asshole!"

Allen could only giggle on account that his speech had become illegible. Dunn strode towards the giggling lunatic and raised his good fist. Luckily, Foley was able to intervene before any serious damage could be done. Leaving Allen sprawled on the floor he led Dunn back to the bar for a few beers. While the trio chatted at the bar, Allen was doing a laughable impression of General Shepherd. The problem was, Shepherd was at the party.

And he wasn't exactly happy about one of his men making fun of his raspy voice, that or saying he sounded like he had throat cancer or swallowed too many dicks the previous night.

"How's the tunnel coming, Roach?" asked Ghost, sipping coffee whilst holding their one smuggled glow stick by which Roach dug the tunnel.

"Not too good, I've got stuck on some concrete.." muttered Roach, his legs being the only visible portion of his body. "It'd be a lot easier if I had some help.."

"Now, now. Roach," said Ghost, "You wouldn't want me to tell the Captain what you said about him at the Christmas party, would you?"

"You bastard.." grumbled Roach. Blackmail. He'd been young. And being young means one thing, making stupid mistakes. That mistake being saying that MacTavish's mohawk was stupid, in front of Ghost. Quite possibly the biggest kiss ass the world had ever seen.

"Glad to see we understand each other," smirked Ghost, "Now get back to work."

"Yes, sir." groaned Roach, and resumed digging.

The next morning the prison guards seemed almost happy. In fact, the guard that led them to the cafeteria evened opened small talk with the prisoners.

Finally, Ghost had to say it, "What the 'ell's with you? Why are you so damn happy? You poison my meal or somethin'?"

Smiling the guard shock his head, "No, my friend. Much better. Today we invade America."

"Oh, that's a relief.." said Ghost, returning to his meal. "Wait, what!"

"Yes, America. The troops have already departed. They will be reaching the East coast in a few hours."

"Shite." muttered Ghost, for once the U.S. was in danger and the Brit's could do nothing to help them.

"Rangers," said Colonel Marshall, attempting to quiet the Rangers so he could deliver important news to them, "I've got important news."

When the room finally quieted itself down, he continued "Men, we reports of Russian forces of the East Coast. Men, I'm sorry to say but your leave has been cancelled. The regiment will be moving up towards Washington D.C. tomorrow morning. Best tell your loved ones you won't be back for a while." Stepping off the bar, he added "Any questions?"

Allen piped up, "Your face looks funny!" Promptly, he collapsed on the floor like a sack of potatoes.

"Sergeant Foley," said a gruff voice. The Sergeant turned to face the source of the voice only to come face-to-face with General Shepherd.

"Sir," said the Sergeant, with a crisp salute.

"At ease, Sergeant I've heard you put in for retirement?"

"Yes, sir."

"After today have you thought about reconsidering?" asked the General.

This comment led Foley to look away from the General, what he saw was Dunn carrying an unconscious Allen while Ramirez held the door so Dunn could use his car to return Allen to the base.. He sighed, if anyone was going to drag those three through hell it would be him.

"Yes, sir."

"Good," said the General giving Foley a quick pat on the should before swaggering away,

and that was the end of Foley's retirement plan.

**Allen and the gang have finally returned! I'm closing in on the final stretch, hopefully you've enjoyed this chapter. If not please post a review so I can fix my mistake in future chapters. **

**Read and Review!**


	12. No Thank You

**No Thank You**

Private Wells cursed his horrible luck. What had started as a simple 'pick up this guy and head back to base' had turned into a full-scale firefight with dozens of Russians and a couple of BTR's. Another example of military intelligence screwing you over. The Russian's had them pinned, and had killed off the entirety of the squad's leadership. Leaving Wells the high-man on the totem pole, a position he by not stretch of the imagination wanted. With the small chance of anyone being in range of his transmission he sent the distress call again.

"This is Private Wells of Bravo Company, we're pinned down by a substantial Russian force and need backup. Repeat, we need support!"

Foley looked from the Humvee radio, to Dunn and said "Punch it,"

"Roger that," returned the Corporal, the Humvee slowly gaining speed.

"Sarge, we got any idea what we're up against?" asked Allen, clutching his M4A1 Grenadier as if it was a small child.

"No clue," with a grin he added, "Hope you like surprises."

"Yeah, well I don't like surprises that can get me killed.." muttered Allen, unsuprised the Army hadn't given them quality Intel.

Ramirez's scanning of the buildings on either side of him went from passing glances to him jumping in his seat at every passing shadow.

"Alright, guys I'm gonna take a shortcut." said Dunn, pulling the bulky vehicle into the residential area of town.

Foley swiveled in his seat to face the two in the back, "Check your weapons and ammo. We're going in hot."

Noticing the look on Ramirez's face, Foley nodded and added "Ramirez, stick with Allen. He'll show you the ropes." The Private could only nod.

This whole 'moment' was shattered by the sound of grinding treads followed by Dunn shouting "Holy Shit!"By this point, the rest of the squad had already disembarked from the vehicle. Leaving Allen alone, either god hated him or he just had extremely shitty luck. Because of all the things that could happen to him at that moment, he was left with a jammed seatbelt. His mother had always preached the use of the seatbelt because it would save his life, now it was going to be the death of him.

The day had arrived, it was the day that Nikolai arrived. But Nikolai was having a bit of trouble getting to his friends. His trouble started with the receptionist.

"What is the nature of your visit, sir?" she asked.

"Um, I am here for my friends." he said, trying to loosen the collar of his leather jacket.

"And who might your friends be?" she asked, looking him straight in the eye. This was discomforting for the former Soviet soldier. The reason was his ex-wife had done the same thing, and it always seemed like she knew exactly what he was thinking. Ever since then, he'd had trouble with women. And today was no different.

"Soap," he blurted out. Then mentally punched himself for using his friends nickname.

"Can I have his real name, not his nickname."

"John, John MacTavish." he said, hoping it would end her prying questions.

"Sir, he's in the maximum security wing. I'm gonna need some id." she said.

Fumbling through his pockets he found his pilot's license. Trembling he handed her his card.

"Sir, this card only gives your name as Nikolai. What is your last name?" she asked.

"My name, you want my name?" he asked, just to make sure she was entirely serious about what she was asking of him.

"Yes, your name." she said, clearly irritated with his 'little game'.

Leaning in close, so the security camera in the corner couldn't see him, he drew his M9 from underneath his coat. Pointing it at the receptionist, he said "Now could you please lead me to my friends?"

Slowly, she stood and then nudged the other receptionist. Who happened to have fallen asleep on the job. After telling him to 'get off his lazy ass' she motioned for Nikolai to follow. The journey the Taskforce's cell had been a short one, until a guard questioned Nikolai's presence in the maximum security wing. Scooping up the receptionist he used her as a human shield waving his handgun around to keep the officers back while he slowly walked to the 141's cell.

Thankfully, Nikolai had planned for this type of situation and had filled a backpack with handguns.

As Ghost grabbed a Glock from the bag, he noticed the money spilling onto the floor. Grabbing a bill off the floor he asked "What the 'ell kind of money is this?"

"Soviet ruble." shouted Nikolai, in between yelling at the officers to get back.

"Even if you would have been able to get in here without alerting every single guard, you brought money that isn't even used in this country anymore!" he screamed.

"You told me to bring money for bail, last time I was in Russian. They used those."

"Ugh, forget it. Let's get out of this shite-hole."

"What? No thank you?" muttered Nikolai.

**No, I am not dead. Thank you very much. But I did have a difficult time thinking up plot ideas for this section. Odd given Wolverines! is one of my favorite levels in campaign. As always, Read and Review!**


	13. Don't Drop the Soap

**Don't Drop the Soap**

"Allen! Get your ass up you lazy bum!" shouted Foley, spraying sporadic machine gun fire at the advancing Russians.

"I got ya buddy," said Dunn, slowly dragging the soldier away from the burning Humvee. "Just keep looking at me, keep looking at me….." And then it all went dark.

Nikolai's 'great escape plan' was unraveling at the seams. Police Sharpshooters had set themselves up along the top of the prison walls and peppered Nikolai's innocent Pavelow.

"Ghost! Take the girl and cover Nikolai so he can get to his Pavelow!" shouted MacTavish, forcefully throwing the receptionist at his masked cohort.

"So I heard ladies like bad boy's," said Ghost, leaning in close, "So what do you think about me, baby?"

A punch to the ribs informed him that she didn't appreciate his presence too much.

"Feisty, I like that in a woman." he said, firing the Glock 18 at anything that so much as looked in his direction.

"I-is he dead?" stuttered Ramirez, looking on the verge of mental breakdown.

"Nah, he's just knocked the shit out." said Dunn, standing up again. "So who wants to carry 'em?"

"I outrank you," chuckled Foley, still checking the street ahead for hostiles. "So I say you carry him."

Grabbing Allen off the ground, Dunn grumbled "Why do I have to carry sleeping beauty here?"

"Because I told you to, you keep this up and soon enough Ramirez will outrank you." said Foley, leading the way.

"You're gonna demote me?" asked Dunn, "For what reason exactly?"

"Shut up, enemy BTR up ahead," whispered Foley, looking back at Ramirez who gawking at the destruction the BTR left in it's wake, he added "Ramirez, use your smoke grenade."

The rookie nodded, ripped a grenade off his vest and chucked it. The smoke built until the only thing visible were the tail lights on the BTR and the half dozen angry Russians running around it.

"Alright, let's move. Our boys are just up ahead. That alley is the only way through. Let's go." ordered Foley.

"You gotta be kidding me," grumbled Dunn. "there are like fifteen guys between us and that stupid alley. Plus a BTR. I don't like my odds of actually living through this."

"I'd have to agree with Dunn on this one." said Ramirez.

Dunn set Allen down and then fired his rifle at a particularly mad Russian officer who was trying to rally his men into killing the four meager Americans, he slumped to the pavement with a bullet to the chest.

"Fine, if my idea's so bad what do y'all got?" asked Foley, leaning against the broken stone wall while Dunn sprayed torrents of 7.62mm rounds to keep the Russians back.

No one said anything.

"That's what I thought. Now let's go." said Foley, retrieving his rifle from where he had laid it down. Then he took off in a dead sprint into the nearby alley, leaving the remainder of his team behind.

"Aw, hell. Who wants to die of old age anyway?" joked Dunn before he too charged through the smoke.

"Me…" muttered Ramirez, gripping his SCAR-H as if his life depended on it as he made his way through the grey cloud.

By some stretch of luck everyone had managed to make it aboard Nikolai's Pavelow, everyone except Captain MacTavish.

"MacTavish! Where the 'ell are you?" shouted Ghost, trying to be heard over the gunfire rattling the Pavelow.

"I'm coming out now!" returned the Captain. Down below an individual could be seen sprinting across the field towards the hovering helicopter. "Drop the ladder!"

The ladder was dropped and the Captain leapt on to it, leaving the prison far below.

"I got it!" he said triumphantly holding an old battered handgun.

"All that trouble for a stupid gun?" came Ghost's reply as he hoisted the Scotsman into the helicopter.

"It's not just any gun," he said, "it belonged to a friend."

**Hope everyone likes how things are turning out, if not? Send me a review! **

**No need to be shy, that's what anonymous reviews are for! **


	14. A Combat Carol

**A Combat Carol**

Allen wasn't quite sure if he was dead or not. He sure felt like he was dead. The creepy darkness surrounding him in all directions didn't put him at ease either.

"So this is what it's like to be dead, hella creepy." he thought to himself. Taking in his new surroundings.

"Remember, No Russian." came a voice that sent shivers down his spine, turning he found himself standing in the check-out line of an airport. And based on the signs on the walls he was at Imran Zakhaev International Airport. Behind him the ding of an elevator caused him to whirl around, causing him to came face to face with a man in a black business suit. This would be totally fine if it wasn't for the fact that the man was also wearing heavy Kevlar body armor and carrying an M4A1 assault rifle. Also the face attached to that body was that of Vladimir Makarov, which informed Allen that this wasn't just a simple visit to the airport.

Instincts took over, Allen himself wasn't armed. He was dressed like the average tourist. So he figured the best option was to try and get the other people to leave. For some reason, screaming 'He's got a gun!' caused no reaction from the crowd.

"They can't hear you, save your breath." came a voice from behind.

A fully-equipped U.S. Marine strode up to Allen, which wasn't exactly cause for alarm if it wasn't for the fact the man was covered in blood.

"Who the hell are you?" Allen asked, still finding it odd for a Marine to be at a Russian airport.

"I could ask you the same," said the Marine, "Names Jackson. Paul Jackson."

"Joseph Allen," said Allen, shaking the dead Marines hand, "So, uh.. Why can't they hear me?"

"Simple. You're dead."

"Sarge!" screamed Dunn, his voice drowned out by the sounds of gunfire reverberating off the tile walls of the Burger Town kitchen.

"What is it, Corporal?" returned Foley, gunning down Russians who were advancing on the besieged fast food joint.

"Allen's acting really weird! His heart rate's plummeted, and I don't what the hell to do."

"Keep an eye on him, where the hell is Ramirez?" shouted the Sergeant, praying the BTR gunner didn't get smart and bombard the restaurant with High-Explosive shells.

"He's covering Raptor!" yelled the Medic, who was trying to deal with injuries that far exceeded his skills.

"You expect me to believe you?" said Allen, pointing an accusatory finger at Jackson.

"Well, I know I'm dead. I mean, I did get hit by a nuke." said the Marine. "Look, we got things to see and I'm on a bit of a time crunch here."

"Alright," said Allen, giving in, "What do you want to show me?"

"How 'bout you turn around and take a good long look at that gunman on the far end?" said Jackson, indicating the gunman with his finger.

Allen took a look at the gunman and saw he was looking at himself.

Ramirez wasn't sure if he was lucky or if he had been given the task of defending an unconscious man. He was lucky in that he wouldn't be in danger of being killed but on the flip side he could see describing this particular battle to his grandchildren.

"What'd you do during the war, Grandpa?" they'd ask.

"Oh, well I hid in a meat locker while my friends died all around me." he'd say.

Yeah, that wouldn't win him any admiration from his grandkids. But in combat he was a liability, so maybe it was for the best he stayed in the closet.

"Is this some kind of joke?" shouted Allen, yelling into the undead Marines translucent face.

"Let us continue," said the Ghost, following in the wake of the terrorists destruction.

Eventually, the ghost stopped at a food court. "See this?" said the ghost, referring to the carnage around them. Allen only nodded.

"Then let's see it five minutes ago," said the Marine, and with a snap of his fingers the room reverted to it's bustling appearance of five minutes prior. The room was bustling with people, but out of the corner of his eye, Allen could see the approaching line of terrorists. He felt a pit in his stomach as the five gunmen, including himself opened fire on the defenseless crowd. The other Allen waded through the piles of corpses, upturning tables to prevent anyone from escaping his wrath. Finally, one of the tables yielded a reward, beneath one of the tables hid a young girl. She pleaded with the other Allen, but her pleas went to deaf ears. With a sadistic grin he leveled his machine gun on her and pulled the trigger, he fired until the gun let out a dull click. Calmly, the other Allen flipped the top hatch on his M240 and dumped the empty box on the floor.

"Wha-what the hell is the point of all this?" screamed Allen, watching as his doppelganger laughed at the poor girls fate as he kicked her mangled corpse out of his way.

"Simple, to send a message." replied the ghost.

"Who the FUCK sends a message like that?"

"Simple, Vladimir Makorav. And more importantly, you."

"Me? Why the hell would I run rampage through a Russian airport?"

"Would you if Shepherd told you? If you thought it would stop Makarov?"

"Well…yeah."

"Then you are no better then those you aspire to takedown." said the ghost, slowly walking away until he disappeared into thin air.

"Shit! Foley! We got a problem!" shouted Dunn, still huddled behind an old beat-up grill in the back of some fast food joint while being surrounded on both sides by Russian forces.

"What is it now?" returned Foley, jamming a new magazine into his SCAR-H.

"It's Allen. He just flat lined." said Dunn, solemnly.

The amount of automatic weapons fire outside the meat locker told Ramirez one of two things. Either that the Rangers were kicking ass and the Russians were retreating or the Russians were overwhelming the defenders. A soft moan caused Ramirez to turn his attention away from the solid steel door and back towards the meat locker's guest.

"Where the hell am I?" asked the formerly unconscious man, rubbing his head with one hand while steadying himself with the other.

"Sir, you'd better sit down. We've got the situation under control." said Ramirez, trying to get the man to sit down, that way he'd be out of the line of fire.

"Like hell, I've got a situation to take command of." muttered the man, more to himself then Ramirez. "And why the hell are you in here? Shouldn't you be out their killing those damn Russians?"

"Sir, I'm under orders to keep you safe."

"Well, Private. My orders outweigh yours. Now I said, let me out of this damn freezer."

"Sir, I can't allow that." said Ramirez, unwilling to risk court-martial for letting the man put under his care die.

"Do you know who I am? I'm with the CIA. Now let me out of this godforsaken icebox this instance." Just to be sure that the idiot Private understood Raptor flashed his ID card which had CIA stamped in bold letters across the top.

With a groan, Ramirez twirled the knob and let the CIA agent out into the hellhole that was the Burger Town restaurant.

"If this guy dies, it'll be my ass." muttered Ramirez, silently praying that this whole fiasco would end without sending him to a military court for disobeying direct orders and causing the death of CIA field agent.


	15. Situation: FUBAR

**Situation: FUBAR**

Allen shot straight up, which caused Dunn who was leaning over him to be knocked back. "Allen? What the hell, man? I thought you were dead!"

Rubbing his head, Allen asked "How long was I out?"

"I'd say about twenty minutes.." returned Dunn, peering out the Burger Town windows.

As he was finishing this, a man in a black business suit marched into the greasy kitchen.

'Another one of those guy's from the airport,' thought Allen, unholstering his M9 and aiming it at the man.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" shouted Dunn, snatching the pistol out of Allen's hand, "Raptor's our objective. You remember the HVT we were to keep an eye out for?"

"Yeah, but weren't their two?" asked Allen, retrieving his handgun from Dunn.

"Yes, but my comrade missed his flight." said Raptor, "It is most problematic."

"Where the hell'd they get this guy?" muttered Allen, poking Dunn in the ribs.

"I work for the CIA. I have vital intelligence, I would request that you evac me as soon as possible." continued Raptor.

"What do you want? Five-Star arrangements? In case you haven't noticed already, we're under fire from all sides and we're still waiting for support." said Dunn, tired of the man's tone.

"I understand but I would appreciate if you'd show more concern. I am your objective, after all." said Raptor, in his emotionless monotone.

"Where's Ramirez?" asked Dunn, noticing the rookie was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, the one sent to guard me? I have sent him to retrieve my things from my Pavelow." Raptor said.

"Wait, you sent the pacifist out there, were all the pissed off Russians are?" asked Dunn, realizing the grave danger Ramirez was in.

"Yes, is that a problem?"

Ramirez suddenly realized the problem with digging through the wreckage of a burned out helicopter. You're essentially stuck inside a metal coffin. And it appeared the Russians knew this as well, as they had begun tossing Frag Grenades inside the confined space of the troop bay. A piece of metal torn from the side of the Pavelow turned out to be a decent shield while Ramirez dug through the contents of Raptor's bag. He knew he couldn't carry the bag, the piece of metal, his SCAR-H, and still escape the helicopter at the same time.

"Ramirez? You out there, buddy?" came Dunn's voice over the Private's earpiece.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Ask that CIA guy what he want's cause I can't carry all his crap and expect to live." returned Ramirez, listening to the sounds of razor sharp shrapnel pinging against the inside of the downed aircraft.

"Screw the junk, what about you?" asked Dunn.

"I'm fine. You know what, if he wants it so bad he can come get it himself." muttered Ramirez, slowly advancing towards the rear hatch which would lead him to safety. As soon as his boot touched the pavement of the parking lot he was blown off his feet by a stray grenade. Next thing he knew, he was being drug. And it wasn't towards the Burger Town.

**A short chapter I know, but I needed to finish up a bit more of the plot before I left my computer for a whole week. But I will return, and when I do... Well we'll see. As always Read and Review! Also I've noticed a few people have skipped Chapter 14 and jumped straight to here, I put both 14 and 15 up at the same time so read 'em both!**


	16. Remembering the Rook

**Remembering the Rook**

Ramirez awoke to find himself tied to a chair in the dark, damp, abyss of a basement. Painfully, he opened his eyes. Standing over him was a man dressed similarly to Raptor and another dressed in the uniform of a Russian Paratrooper.

"Ah, you are finally awake, American." said the Paratrooper, in surprisingly good English.

"Dammit, Viktor! Stop toying with him and kill him!" shouted the suited man, "You remember what Shepherd said, no witnesses!"

"Do you think me a fool? I know what he said. But do you?" responded Viktor, pointing his Desert Eagle at the man in the suit.

Ramirez watched with rising interest, especially when Viktor continued "He appears to have forgotten to tell you that he wants you dead. Why else would he send elite troops to your home?" Referring to Ramirez.

"Shepherd would never do that to me! He knows what I know about his operations!" said the man, his voice rising along with his terror.

"Exactly, that's why you're a loose end." said Viktor, leveling his Desert Eagle on the man. The heavy bullet torn into the man's shoulder and flung him against the wall, slowly he slid to the floor leaving a smear of blood.

"Now that our friend is dead, I can have you all to myself." purred Viktor, holstering his massive handgun he turned towards Ramirez.

"I can't believe the bastards took Ramirez." muttered Dunn, "I'll kill every last one of them myself if I have to. I'm not leaving him behind."

"Didn't think you cared that much about him, but you heard the General. We're not allowed to go looking for him, the mission comes first." said Foley, a part of him hurting that his squad had been in combat for a total of three hours and he'd already lost one.

"I'll miss the kid. He may have been more trouble than he was worth, but.. dunno. He sorta rounded out the team you know?" said Dunn.

"Too right." said Foley. "There's Honey Badger, everybody out!"

"It's ok, you can scream. I know you want to." purred the Russian, running his knife down the side of the American's face. "I see. You think if you say nothing that the torture will stop? Well, you are quite mistaken."

Ramirez had decided that his life was worth less then the hundreds of civilians being evacuated, and had such planned to tell the Russian nothing. Besides, Shepherd would never authorize a rescue op for a single Private. He knew his time would soon be up.

While the rest of the Rangers were crawling over the roadblock which separated the Russian occupied neighborhood from the rest of the Virginian countryside, Sergeant Foley was in a bit of a dilemma. Dunn had decided to ignore orders and head out to find Ramirez. Allen, deciding that Ramirez's capture was his fault also joined Dunn. Foley thus was either going to go without his team or follow his team and risk court-martial.

"Give me your IFF transponders." he said, holding out his hand.

"Why?" asked Dunn, while Allen unclipped his from his helmet.

"If Shepherd can't track you he can't prove you've done anything wrong." said Foley, taking Dunn and Allen's tags and attaching them to his web gear. "Now, go get him back."

"You got it, Sarge." said Allen, slipping around the edge of one of the buildings.

Dunn followed behind and added "Thanks, Sarge. Knew you wouldn't rat us out."

"You know, I'm not really that violent. You should meet Makarov, he'd love to test your determination." continued the Russian, "However, you should know he has a preference of power tools. Something he passed onto me."

Ramirez gulped as he saw the Russian grab a cordless power drill off one of the dusty workbenches that cluttered the basement.

"Not much farther, as long as he still has his tag he should be in that building up ahead." said Allen, leading Dunn across a golf course in an effort to cut time off their trip and reach Ramirez faster. "Shh.. get down. Russian anti-air. Think we should take it out?"

Dunn peered out from behind the tree he dove behind, towards the edge of the golf course was a ZPU and a BMP. "Roger, that. It is our primary objective, after all."

"Alright, lazing the target." said Allen, activating the laser attached to his M4A1.

Soon enough a laser guided artillery shell flew in and destroyed the anti-aircraft battery.

"Alright, enough dawdling. We gotta find Ramirez, and quick!" said Dunn.

"Roger that. Hope he's still okay." said Allen, covering the rear.

"Allen, take the basement. I'll take the upstairs." said Dunn.

"Got it." said Allen, heading down into the abyss.

Allen removed his flashlight from his vest and welded it along with his M9. The beam bounced off the various piles of punk lying in the basement.

"Ramirez? You down here?" asked Allen, listening for Ramirez's reply.

A hoarse and weak voice returned, "Allen? Get..get out of here!"

Allen slowly made his way past the piles towards the source of the voice. The beam passed over a body lying hunched in the corner. Sweeping the beam along Allen found Ramirez huddled on the concrete floor lying in a puddle of blood.

"Ramirez!" shouted Allen, rushing to his wounded friends side. Rolling the Private over he realized the extent of the man's injuries. His face was sliced in numerous places, along with an array of bruises over the entirety of his face and torso. Blood oozed down the front of his t-shirt, Allen pulled the shirt up to reveal a multitude of knife injuries.

"Allen," said Ramirez, struggling to keep his voice audible, "Get out, he'll kill you…"

"No way, I'm not leaving you behind. Com'on, get up." said Allen.

Ramirez grabbed onto his vest in a pitiful attempt to keep Allen from carrying him out, "No..Save yourself…"

"It appears you are too late to save your friend and too late to even save yourself." came a rough Russian voice.

**This chapter is dedicated to my editor, who was unable to help me due to him being on vacation. Also, IFF means Identification Friend or Foe. Whether the individual soldier has one, is another matter entirely. But when using a thermal scope a blinking strobe can be seen which implies that they do. Enough babble from me, please Review!**


	17. Mustached Man

**Mustached Man**

Five years is a long time. Five years of pain. Five years of mental and physical torture. Five years wrongfully accused. Things that would break weaker men. But their was a reason that he was considered one of the best. They could torture him for a hundred years and they'd never get him to rat out the last surviving member of his old team, Soap.

Five hours is a long time. A long time to be stuck behind a desk instead of on the frontlines, fighting the bad guys. At least five hours was a long time for 'Soap' MacTavish. As soon as his team had returned from Russia he'd been placed behind a desk to 'work' off his 'mistake'. He had a feeling that he was going to be working off this mistake for the rest of his life. Unlike the official members of Shepherd's staff, he wasn't exceptionally good with computers. Sure, he stopped a nuclear missile from hitting the East Coast. But, ask him to make a spread sheet and it'd take him all week. Also, the fact that he wasn't a thin-lanky-computer wizard meant that all women in a forty foot square radius of his cubicle were attracted to him like fly paper. As he was putting the final touches on his report, his phone rang.

Flipping the phone open, he said "MacTavish speaking. May I ask who this is?"

"Soap," came a weak voice, partially covered by static the other the sound of thick Russian voices.

"Who is this? How do you know me?" asked the Captain, worried about a possible breach in security.

"So you don't remember me, how sad. I know you're tracing this call. How 'bout you come down and visit some time?" asked the Voice, then before MacTavish could answer the line went dead.

"What the 'ell was that about?" he thought to himself.

Ghost was enjoying his new promotion. Seeing as MacTavish was stuck behind a desk, Ghost was now Captain, albeit unofficially. Given Shepherd had the Taskforce under base arrest meant that he really didn't have anything to do. Presently, he found himself in the kitchen watching over the 'maid', who was actually the receptionist from the prison only wearing a maid suit that Roach had purchased for his girlfriend. She was scrubbing the yellowed linoleum on her hands and knees, which left Ghost with an interesting view.

"Mmm… I like that view." he muttered to himself.

Noticing him eyeballing her, she said "Are you looking at my ass?"

"And what if I am?" he asked, with a slight grin.

Slowly, she crawled up to him, and began rubbing his thigh.

"You like that?" she purred.

"Maybe…" he said, trying to remain professional.

"Then you're going to love this." she said, unzipping his pants.

Finally, the clock struck noon and Shepherd's staff were entitled to their thirty minute break. While the rest of the staff drove out of base to get fast food, MacTavish was forced to walk. He never had a reason to buy a car given he would never have time to drive the stupid thing. So, instead he decided to walk to the 141's small kitchen to get a cup of coffee and maybe steal one of Roach's sandwiches. The idiot never realized it was his Captain that stole his food so he always blamed Meat, MacTavish chuckled to himself as he remembered the good old days. Opening the door to the kitchen he found himself looking at Ghost, who was handcuffed to pillar in the middle of the room with his pants around his ankles.

"What the 'ell happened to you?" asked MacTavish.

"The maid stole my 'cuffs outta my pocket! Then she stole the keys!" growled Ghost.

"Oh, sorry to hear that." said MacTavish, grabbing his cup and a roast beef sandwich he started for the door.

"Don't leave me here!" shrieked Ghost, "You bloody wanker!"

But the last part of his threat was muffled by the sound of the kitchen door closing.

"Bollocks." muttered Ghost.

As he said this the maid came out of her hiding place inside the broom closet.

"Hello, Ghosty. Still tied up I see." she said with a smirk.

"Damn you woman!" he screamed, flailing wildly at her. Eventually, he tired himself out and sat still on the floor. Still berating himself for being beat by a woman.

"Aw, don't be so sad, Ghosty." she purred, pulling up his mask a bit. Noticing the muscles in his neck tense up she asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, it's just…I don't like people to see me without the mask.." he said, suddenly sounding more like a awkward teenager then a twenty-something military man.

Undeterred she pulled the mask up until his cheek was exposed, quickly she gave him a peck on the cheek and said "For your troubles." And then she left.

"W-what the hell just happened?" asked Ghost, still trying to comprehend the events that had taken place.

MacTavish returned to his cubicle. Taking a bite of his stolen sandwich he began taking notes on who could have possibly called him. It was a short list, only a few people knew of his nickname. And even fewer of them had any reason to be in Russia, and those who did were dead. He left the list on his desk and got back to work, not eager for Shepherd to come in and yell at him for 'slacking' off on the job.

John Price was no fool. Soap may not know who had sent him the cryptic message but he knew the man's methods. He wasn't one to be easily deterred, and Price needed his help. One man versus a gulag full of armed Russians were pitiful odds even by Price's standards. But with Soap by his side, he could take on the whole damn world if he had to.

**Yes, I am that much of an asshole to devote an entire chapter to the 141 instead of explaining what's happening to Allen. As for Price, you knew he had to show up sometime and now seemed like the best time! As always read and review!**


	18. Not Alone in the Dark

**Not Alone in the Dark**

Allen unloaded his pistol at the sound of the voice.

"Ah, how predictable.." said the voice. "You Americans are so similar in your methods."

Allen caught movement out of the corner of his eye, but it was too late. The Russian had managed to pin him to the floor, and had a knife dangerously close to his jugular. A swift hit with the butt of his pistol caused the Russian to back-off, albeit briefly. Rolling to his feet, Allen drew his combat knife. Before he could assume a defensive stance the Russian had slashed him, checking his cheek with a gloved hand revealed fresh blood. Viktor responded by licking the blood off his knife blade. Bad enough he got stuck fighting a weird Russian in a dark basement, now he was fighting one who had a taste for blood.

With impressive speed for a man of his size, Viktor attacked. He led with a slide kick which left Allen looking at the ceiling and followed it with several quick strikes to the areas of Allen's torso unprotected by his Kevlar vest.

"I want you to die slowly," said the Russian coolly, methodically stabbing the soldier. "Your kind does not deserve a quick death…"

Satisfied he'd caused the soldier enough pain, he stood up and unholstered his Desert Eagle, "But alas, I have a schedule to keep. Have fun in hell, American."

And the sound of a solitary gunshot filled the basement.

Finally, MacTavish's shift had come to an end. He exited his chair and quietly stretched his muscles, strained from being hunched over a computer all day. Silently, he packed his things and walked out of the office complex and out into the cool afternoon air. Once more he looked down at the small slip of paper on which he had wrote the names of possible callers. He was still no closer to knowing who called him but he had a hunch, but it was impossible. The man had died five years earlier. True, stranger things had happened but as far as he knew the dead didn't rise and they sure as hell didn't call up people from their past lives. Even if Price had managed to survive the events on the bridge it didn't explain his being in Russia. A special assignment seemed unlikely. And why call now? As mulled over this he found himself standing in the middle of the road, he looked up just in time to see a blue pickup truck barreling down the hill.

"Get the fuck off the road, dumbass!" yelled the Driver.

MacTavish said nothing as he continued his trek back to the comfort of the 141 barracks, at least their he was surrounded by those who understood him.

It was movie night, Ghost always enjoyed movie night. Recently, he'd bought the Saw XIII and had been itching to watch it, partly because Roach always ended up screaming like a little girl at least once during any horror movie. Sure it was more of a brutally violent mental thriller but try explaining that to Roach. Currently, the ensemble were arguing over what film to watch.

"I wanna watch Bleach." said Roach, pouting on the floor in front of Ghost, trying to get things to go his way.

"I wish to watch this movie," said Nikolai, readying the popcorn. "I think they called it Twilight? I have heard rave reviews about it."

The entire group groaned at his request.

"What? Is it that bad of a film?" asked Nikolai.

"Look, you only watch those movies for one of two reasons. A) You're a fan-girl. Or B) you're the boyfriend of said fan-girl who's trying to get laid." said Royce, thinking back to his younger years when he was the one pulling reason B.

Apparently, that answer was good enough for Nikolai as he silently took his seat, his bowl of popcorn in his lap.

"How 'bout, we watch Saw XIII? Whoever pisses their pants first has to clean the latrine everyday for a week?" bet Ghost, knowing full well that Roach would lose before the opening credits.

The maid entered the room, noticed Ghost and plopped down on the couch next to him. "So Ghosty, watcha watching?" she asked, leaning against his shoulder.

"Saw.." he said quietly.

"Oooo.. That movies scary. How 'bout we watch a romantic comedy instead?" she said, rubbing his chest softly.

"Roach! We happen to have any romantic comedies on the shelf?" asked Ghost, sounding more like a direct order then a question.

After several minutes of digging fruitlessly through piles of pornography and other videos common to a base full of men who haven't seen a woman in quite a while, Roach found a battered copy of Titanic lying in the bottom of the stack.

"Will Titanic work? I don't think that Girls Gone Wild counts as a romantic comedy." said Roach, inserting the old DVD into the player.

The maid leaned her head on Ghost's shoulder, "This movie reminds me of us." she said.

Ghost gulped. A decently reliable source had informed him that if a woman says a movie during which the male half of the romance is killed is a reminder of you that you may find yourself dead by the end of the week. But, having the relationship skills of a toddler he was unable to voice his concern.

Allen raised himself off the floor and winced at the various open wounds that ran down his side. He turned to his left to see Ramirez, clutching a M9 in his bloody hand. Painfully, he crawled over to his friend. Applying field dressings from his small first aid kit, Allen said "Thought you never killed a man.."

"I haven't…Until now.." Ramirez said, his voice barely audible over the sound of someone trying to bash down the doors to the basement. "First time for everything, I guess…"

Finally, the door shattered and the room was bathed in light from outside.

"Allen! You down here?" shouted Dunn, his voice reverberating off the concrete block basement.

"Yeah, I'm fine. But we need an evac for Ramirez, he's not doing so good!" returned Allen, finding for every wound he patched two more would emerge.

"Shit. Alright. I'll tell Foley to get one called in." said Dunn, before he headed back outside to find their Sergeant.

"Com'on Ramirez. Stick with me, buddy." said Allen, trying to keep the rookie from passing out.

"Allen…t-tell my mom… Tell her I love her.." said Ramirez weakly.

"Tell yourself, Private." said Foley, while Allen was busy talking to himself Foley had snuck up behind him. "I figured something like this would happen.. Evac bird is waiting outside."

Turning to Ramirez, he added with a smile "You did good, you did damn good."

As Ramirez was being carried outside to the waiting Blackhawk, Dunn clamored down the old wooden steps and into the basement. "Whoa, Allen you okay?" he asked, noticing the blood that covered Allen's BDU shirt. Truth be told, Allen couldn't tell what blood had came from Ramirez and what had came from himself.

"Allen, get yourself checked out. These guys aren't going anywhere." said Foley, referring to the two corpses lying on the floor of the basement. Allen nodded in agreement and walked out of the basement into the sun.

**Ramirez has been in this story since Chapter 2 and after this long, he finally decides to kill someone. But I think that this version was better written then my old way of explaining it. Also, the fight in the basement was going so poorly for Allen because the fact that his Kevlar vest is pretty heavy and hinders his movement. Viktor on the other hand didn't wear as much armor but was much faster, hence he took a 9MM and died. Rest in Peace, Viktor.**

**As always, Read and Review!**


	19. Sex on the First Date

**Sex on the First Date**

It was late. Ghost had known this when the movie had started. What he didn't plan was for the movie to last an ungodly three whole hours. In the meantime the maid had fell asleep against his shoulder. So being the good Englishman he was, he carried her to her room. After making sure she was tucked in properly, he made his leave.

As he opened the door he ran headfirst into MacTavish, the older man just chuckled "Look, I don't know what you were doing in there and I don't wanna know. As long as it doesn't interfere with your work, I'm fine with it. Understood?"

"But, sir. I wasn't doing anything." said Ghost, sounding like a child being wrongfully sent to the principles' office.

"I'm just playing with ya! Now let's go grab ourselves a couple o' beers, shall we?" said the Captain playfully.

The doctors had managed to stitch Allen's side back together but it didn't mean it didn't hurt. Allen was put on reserve duty until his wounds were fully healed. But that also meant that in case of a major emergency, Allen could be called back to the front. Hopefully, that wouldn't be needed. Ramirez on the other hand was unfit for combat no matter the reason, given his entire torso was a mess of stab wounds meant he had a long road to recovery. But that road was shortened considerably thanks in part to Ramirez being moved to a hospital in Washington D.C.

"You want me to try and pinpoint this number, without letting Shepherd know?" asked Ghost, still not understanding what was being asked of him.

"That's right. I think an old friend my be in trouble." said MacTavish, taking a swig of his beer.

"Alright, well you came to the right place. I am the best after all. I'll have the location by tomorrow morning." said Ghost, rising from his chair.

"You ever get the name of the girl?" asked MacTavish.

"What girl?" asked Ghost, unsure of the girl in question.

"The maid. Does she have a name?" asked MacTavish, a wide grin on his face.

"Actually…I have no idea…" said Ghost, surprised she had been at the base for so long yet she was still being referred to solely as the 'maid'.

"Look, I've been in your situation before. I know what your thinking. If you think it's going too fast you gotta speak up." said MacTavish, finishing his beer.

"I swear you're a fucking mind reader…" grumbled Ghost.

"Nah, you may wear a mask but I can still read you like a book." said MacTavish, standing he added "Alright, enough of this. Get some shuteye, and I expect that information on my desk at 0800 hours."

"Yes, sir." said Ghost, heading down the hall to his bunk.

Quietly, he slipped into his bed and booted up his laptop. Within a few minutes he'd tracked the call to an abandoned castle, forty miles east of Petropavlosk, Russia. At least it was thought to be abandoned, satisfied with his work, Ghost pinpointed the location of the Gulag on a map and removed all data about it from his hard drive. Surprisingly, when trying to dig up information on the name of a simple receptionist requires more effort then pinpointing the exact location of a supposedly abandoned Gulag with only the phone number to go off of. But Ghost was always one to like a little challenge in his life, so with renewed energy he began prying for information on the mysterious 'maid.'

**I still don't have a name for the maid, but prior to now I never planned for her to be a major supporting character. Heck, she has more lines then some of the TF141 soldiers! So a name might be a useful addition…If anybody happens to have an idea for a name I'd be more then happy.**

**Review, please!**


	20. Beginning of the End

**Beginning of the End**

Ghost rose early the next morning as he always did. While the rest of the Taskforce slept in for the second day in a row, Ghost retrieved his spandex running shorts and prepared for his morning run. Apparently, he snapped the elastic a bit to hard as Roach stirred in his sleep, and then woke up.

"Are those, short-shorts?" groaned Roach, rubbing his eyes. Unsure if he really was seeing Ghost in extremely tight hot pants.

Their was a reason that Ghost always was up an hour before the rest of the Taskforce, mainly because he liked to get in a short run to wake himself up but also because his running shorts were on the borderline between pink and red. He had hoped to avoid a conversation like this. Apparently, he had failed.

Captain MacTavish knew full well that the only thing that would ever be able to stop Captain Price was a full-fledged tank brigade. And just the fact that The Gulag happened to be a maximum security prison for opposition to the Communist Regime meant a strong presence of Russian Soldiers. Most likely Makarov's, which meant that Price could be the bait that drew the elusive Makarov to light. But, to get Price out of The Gulag would require some serious effort. Hence the reason he came to the armory early, once he told the men their would be a clamor to get to the armory and get prepared. Thus, he decided to try and avoid the rush. As he finished reassembling his M4A1, a sleep deprived Roach staggered in.

"You're up early." said MacTavish, checking to make sure his M1911.45 was empty before he started disassembling it.

With a yawn Roach said "Yeah, Ghost woke me up.. Have you seen his shorts?"

MacTavish chuckled "I assume you mean the red ones."

"Yeah…" noticing the gun in the Captain's hand, Roach added "What's with the gun? That ain't standard issue."

"This? It was a gift, from an old friend." said MacTavish, checking that everything was as it should be. "You might want to check your gear as well.."

"We suiting up?" asked Roach, removing his ACR from a rack on the wall.

"Not officially. I have a hunch an old friend is in trouble." said MacTavish, prepping his M203 before snapping it onto the bottom of his M4A1.

"And what if this hunch is wrong?" asked Roach, going over the array of optics that nearly covered one whole wall of the room. "Close or Long Range?"

"Close. If my hunch is wrong? Then we may be in bit of a jam." said MacTavish, replacing the batteries in his Red Dot Sight.

"Just how we like it, eh?" asked Roach, snapping a Holographic Sight onto the rail that ran down the length of his ACR.

"Too right, mate. Too right." said MacTavish, setting his M4A1 into it's protective case.

"I don't know, man. It just feels like we're just asking to be invaded. I mean look at this, all the civvies are still here! We can't fight a war with them here!" muttered Dunn, slowly piloting the Humvee through the streets of Washington. "They think we can keep the Russians from knocking down their front door, just look at Virginia. Place is crawling with Reds."

"Com'on. This is the most heavily defended place in America. Russians would be crazy to even come here." said Allen, enjoying the fact he was riding in a Humvee without having to worry about losing his head to enemy snipers.

"Dunn's right. The Russian will be here, and soon." said Foley, trying to find somewhere to put his hands due to his rifle being in the trunk. "And when they do, it's gonna real ugly."

"Sarge, we gonna be getting any support?" asked Dunn. "That'd sure make this a hell of a lot easier."

"Like Allen said, the big wigs don't see any chance for a Russian attack. That and a massive mobilization would likely cause mass panic." said Foley, not exactly liking the news himself.

"So we're on our own. Perfect." said Dunn, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Guys? We supposed to have any flyovers by the Air Force?" asked Allen, pointing to three jets streaking across the sky.

"Sarge, are those what I think they are?" shouted Dunn, putting the Humvee into reverse.

"Shit. Enemy fast movers! Get down! Get the fuck down!" screamed Foley, trying to get the civilians off the street. Most continued to gawk at him like he was some kind of idiot. By the time they realized the danger that was coming towards them it was too late. The MiG's deployed their bombs, obliterating the Humvee in front of the squad's along with several civilian vehicles and pedestrians.

"Fuck!" muttered Dunn, surveying the vast damage done by the bombs.

"And that's not all, Corporal." said Foley, pointing out the largo cargo planes embossed with the Hammer and Sickle flying overhead.

Nikolai had been resting in his Pavelow waiting for MacTavish's handpicked squad to arrive. First aboard as always was Ghost, followed by Roach, Ozone, Scarecrow, and Worm. Lastly, MacTavish boarded the helicopter.

"Where are we headed, Captain MacTavish?" asked Nikolai, he'd been given the coordinates but he preferred to have a basic knowledge of what he might be running into.

"It's an old Gulag. Don't much else about it beyond that." said MacTavish, giving the pilot a pat on the back he added "It should be smooth sailing."

"Da. You said that when you came to rescue me in Russia. And look how that turned out." said Nikolai.

"We got out of that okay didn't we?" smirked MacTavish.

"Da. Barely." muttered Nikolai, rising the Pavelow off the landing pad.

"Don't be so pessimistic." replied MacTavish, at that moment his radio beeped. Informing him of an incoming message. "This is MacTavish, over."

"Son, what in sam hell are you doing with that helicopter?" came the angry voice of Shepherd.

"Sir, I think I may have found a way to draw Makarov out."

"Care to explain, Captain?"

"I'll explain when we return. Out." said MacTavish, clicking off his radio.

"Sir, d-did you just tell the general off?" asked Ghost.

"It appears that way." he said quietly, "Nikolai, hurry up! I want him alive! I do not want to be collecting a corpse!"

"Da. But this is as fast as I can fly. So just sit back and enjoy your flight." said the Pilot.

"Cheeky bastard." muttered MacTavish, leaning his head against the side of the hull.

**(Mock Terror) Oh, No! Russia has invaded D.C. What will become of our brave heroes? As always, Read and Review!**


	21. Awaken the Sleeping Giant

**Awaken the Sleeping Giant**

Dunn had run about twelve stop lights and fourteen stop signs and they'd only been driving for roughly five minutes. In other words, he was driving like a bat out of hell.

"Allen! You remember what room Ramirez was in?" shouted Dunn, cutting off an eighteen wheeler.

Allen who was holding onto every available surface in an effort to not be thrown from the vehicle, yelled "Room 287. Second Floor. Left Wing."

"Got it. Hold on, we're going to take a shortcut." said Dunn, swerving the Humvee off the road and into a formerly quaint park. Now a pot marked shell of it's former glory.

Allen looked up to see that the sky was now filled with parachuting Russians and their air support. Once proud structures, symbols of the American dream were now being slowly destroyed by precision air strikes. Ahead stood the Capital building, it's dome falling in on itself. To his left stood the Washington Monument, it's peak crushed. Revealing the girders that were put in place to prevent such damage to it.

"Sarge, have they even hit our military infrastructure?" asked Allen, still taking in the destruction.

"What do you mean, Private?" asked Foley, holding onto a canvas strap that hung from the Humvee's roll cage.

"Have they destroyed our bases and all that? 'Cause all I see here is them destroying major national landmarks." said Allen, "It's almost like they're trying to demoralize us."

"Yeah, well try as they may. 'Cause all it's doin' for me is making me mad." muttered Dunn, swerving around an upturned bus with it's passengers spread all over the road.

"Maybe.. But I have to agree with Dunn on this one. They're just pissing off the entire goddamn country." said Foley, watching a flight of MiG's drop their payloads on the Lincoln Memorial.

Shepherd found himself standing before the entrance to a massive nuclear shelter in the Cheyenne Mountains in Colorado Springs. He waved off his guards, no need to bring two heavily armed bodyguards into a secure U.S. facility. Approaching the steel door separating the shelter he took in the vast size of the whole place. Sure, their may only be a small guard post but beneath those mountains was a whole colony of secure tunnels. And a conference room full of U.S. Military High Command and the Secretary of Defense, William Cullen. Shepherd hated the man with a vengeance, Cullen had been the one to take away his stars following the nuclear incident five years prior. But that was the past, whether he liked it or not he needed Cullen's help. The man had access to resources that Shepherd needed if he planned to take down Makarov. Shepherd walked slowly, taking in the vast array of Military might that would soon be at his command. Abrams fresh off the assembly line. Platoons of highly-trained special forces operators. Hell, if he played his cards right he might even be able to commandeer all U.S. Forces stationed in Washington D.C. But, first he had to actually get inside the secure facility. He approached a solid metal door, but unlike most doors this one had no handle. Instead on the wall next to it was retinal scanner. Shepherd never understood how the thing worked and didn't even really care. He was here for his Blank Check.

Ramirez awoke to the sound of explosions. Quickly, he swung himself out of bed and removed his hospital gown. He threw on his BDU's as fast as possible and retrieved his M9 from his bedside table, Dunn had left it for him the last time he'd visited. It was a breach in hospital policy but Ramirez figured it was an okay rule to break given the situation. He staggered out into the hall, his side weeping blood from the various stitches he'd pulled when he put his clothes on. But the pain was a reminder that this was all real, not some fantasy he'd put together in his dreams. Gritting his teeth, he started towards the entrance.

Dunn parked the Humvee on the front grass of the hospital. It wasn't like anyone was going to give him a ticket in the middle of a Russian invasion. Foley decided to stay with the vehicle while Allen and Dunn went in to retrieve Ramirez. The strode in through the sliding doors and into the waiting room, which was overflowing with victims of the last attack. Dunn calmly walked up to the front desk and requested he be allowed to see one Private James Ramirez.

"Sir, you'll have to come back later. Visiting hours are three to four." said the nurse, in between bouts of cracking her gum.

Dunn laid his M1911.45 on the counter, and asked "As I said before, I'm here for a Private Ramirez. Now, are we going to have a problem or I am going to have to drag him out of here by force?"

The nurse gulped, and keyed the silent alarm.

Ramirez stumbled into the waiting room he found the room full of hospital security who were in the process of arresting Dunn. Allen stood quietly by the door.

"The gun wasn't even fucking loaded!" yelled Dunn, struggling with the officers. Noticing Ramirez had entered the room, he called "Hey, Ramirez! It's me, in a bit of a jam here. Mind helping a brother out?"

"You know this nut job?" asked the security guard.

"Yeah.. He's in my squad.." said Ramirez, his feet still a bit wobbly.

"Alright. I'll let you off with a warning. But if you pull this kind of stunt again, I will beat the shit out of you. Understood?" said the Guard.

"Yes, _Officer.." _Dunn said sarcastically.

"Good. Now get the hell out of my hospital." growled the Guard removing the cuffs from Dunn's wrists.

"Allen, I can't believe you didn't back me up in there.." grumbled Dunn, rubbing the scraps on his wrists.

"Hey, I didn't want to get arrested!" said Allen, putting his hands up incase Dunn felt like punching him in the face. Noticing Ramirez's bloody tee-shirt, he added "Ramirez, you okay?"

"What this?" asked Ramirez, touching his bloody side, "Guess I ripped my stitches. No big deal."

"We'll get you checked out when we get back to base." said Dunn, hoping into the driver seat of the Humvee. Foley handed him a small slip of paper.

"Cop told me to give that to you." he said.

"What! Unlawful parking? This is bullshit, Reds are invading and I get a fucking parking ticket.."

"Please place your eyes on the scanner." commanded the Retinal Scanner. It was an odd experience to be taking orders from a machine but everyday was a new experience. Yesterday it was raising a Company of soldiers intent on doing his bidding and today it was taking orders from a hunk of metal. Shepherd placed his eyes on the Scanner while it ran a laser over the surface of his eyeball, similar to how a bar code is read at a grocery store.

"Scan complete." said the Scanner, "Full name and Rank."

Shepherd sighed, what next? His waist size. "Shepherd, Adrian. Lieutenant General."

Everything they were asking him were things they should already know, they had his retinal scan for god sake it wasn't like he had someone else's eyes in his head.

"Welcome General Shepherd, it is a pleasure to meet you this evening." said the robotic voice as the steel door leading into the bunker opened.

Shepherd stepped into the elevator leading to his meeting with Cullen, and more importantly his final piece in his puzzle.

**Wonder if anyone noticed the Half-Life reference. I just had to put that in their. Figured I needed to explain how Shepherd got his blank check so he could fund his evil organization. Please place your eyes on the scanner, I mean Please Review!**


	22. Short for a Stormtrooper

**Short for a Stormtrooper**

Price sighed. It was two o'clock. Time for his daily interrogation. Oddly, his interrogator was five minutes late, Russian interrogators take great pride in their work. Hell, this one had been trying to get him to talk for five years straight. Finally, a full ten minutes late his interrogator arrived. And it wasn't the usual one. Instead of the normal tall, burly Russian with a slight stubble and a face of scars was a man who looked like someone you'd just gotten out of college.

"Name's Roach. I'll be your interrogator for the night." said the scrawny man, a wide smile on his face.

"Who the hell let a Muppet like you pass selection?" asked Price, noticing the man seemed to be unsure of what to do to the prisoner while the real guards were watching.

"For a matter of fact, Captain MacTavish." said Roach, in a low voice trying to make it look like he was giving the prisoner his final chance to talk before the beatings began.

"Soap?" said the old man, shocked to hear his old friend's name.

"I guess you could call him that." said Roach, before smacking Price in the face with his fist.

"What the hell was that for?" shouted Price, touching his busted lip.

"Have to make it convincing.." said Roach, drawing back his fist.

"Then hit me like a man!" growled Price, "They not teach you boy's how to fight were you come from?"

"Oh, that's it." muttered Roach, "I was gonna pull my punches but now I'm not so sure.."

Shepherd scanned his card on the small panel on the wall. He groaned, more electronics. He could barely work his cell phone let alone highly sophisticated electronic door openers. The panel blinked red. Shepherd gritted his teeth and ran the card through again. The panel once again, blinked red. Shepherd ran the card through the scanner three more times, and every time the panel blinked red.

"What the hell is wrong with this damn thing?" growled Shepherd.

"Did you make sure the bar code was on the side you were scanning?" asked the soldier who guarded the door to the lower levels of the shelter. "Here, let me see."

The guard took the small card from Shepherd's hand and ran it through the scanner. Which blinked green. As if magic the door slide open.

"Their you go." said the soldier, returning the card to Shepherd.

Shepherd grumbled and headed through the door.

Roach didn't remember MacTavish explaining the part of the plan were he was going to be held hostage by the man they were sent to rescue. Then again, MacTavish may have said it, Roach wasn't known for paying attention. Thus, MacTavish often had to reiterate orders in the field. But that didn't matter at present time, what mattered was Price had a gun and was using him as a human shield. Four extra Russians appeared behind those already engaged in the hostage situation. But Roach could tell based on the movements of the third Russian that he was in fact, MacTavish. Within moments the four had gunned down the original set of Russians.

"Drop it!" shouted MacTavish, his M1911.45 drawn.

"Soap?" asked Price, slightly lowering his own weapon.

MacTavish removed the mask which concealed his face, and then flipped the M1911.45 so the butt was facing Price. "This belongs to you, sir." he said.

"Who's Soap?" asked Worm, still confused as hell.

"I'll explain later, right now we have a Pavelow to catch." said MacTavish, "Nikolai, were are you?"

The radio cackled and Nikolai's voice said, "I am above the Prison now. Polnoe der'mo! Soap! You did not tell me they had SAM's!"*

"I didn't have any real intel on the place," muttered MacTavish, "Besides, I never said their wouldn't be."

"If I wreck my helicopter I expect to be fully reimbursed for the damages! I am thirty meters from your position! Check the tunnel to the North!" said the Russian.

"Roger that, we'll be there." said MacTavish, heading for the tunnel.

"Hurry up! You dawdle and I leave you behind!" shouted Nikolai.

"There it is!" yelled Roach, sprinting towards the chopper.

MacTavish helped Price into the helicopter and said "Alright, Nikolai. We're all aboard."

"General Shepherd, you're late." said Cullen, tapping his foot on the concrete floor. "I assume you are here for your blank check?"

"That I am." said Shepherd.

"Well, as much as it pains me to say it. You were right, we should have listened." said Cullen, "You've got a blank check."

"One man is responsible. Makarov must be brought to light." said Shepherd.

"Are you sure it's his fault?" asked Cullen, "It seems to me that your international band of Boy Scouts, the 141. Are the entire reason for this war."

"Cullen, I-" started Shepherd.

"General, I am a very busy man. Please just take your check and leave my bunker." said Cullen, picking at the dirt under his fingernails.

Shepherd turned on his heel and marched out of the room. Happy to be away from some liberal who couldn't tell the difference between a threat to national security and his next secretary to have an affair with. But what made him the happiest was his blank check, making him the most powerful man on the entire planet. The world's most powerful army being his newest toy for furthering his goal.

***Nikolai essentially said "Holy Shit!"**

**Also theHalf-Life Reference was referring to Shepherd, in Half-Life: Opposing Force you play as Adrian Shepherd. And since there is no proof of Shepherd's first name in game I just picked one.**

**Please Read and Review, As Always.**


	23. Internal Affairs

**Internal Affairs**

It had only been four hours since the first bomb had hit D.C. but it felt like days. A light rain had started, soaking Allen to the bone. He, along with Foley had been keeping tabs on the battle that was raging outside of their small command center. The narrow trench had been progressively filling with water since Allen had arrived. It had been one defeat after another, all day long. Ramirez had been taking the civilian casualties particularly hard, they'd left him to get some rest.

"What are you thinkin' Sarge?" asked Allen, surveying the postmarked landscape that once was the National Mall.

Foley took one glance at the helicopters collecting people to be evacuated and said "I don't think we've got enough birds to evac the amount of people we got coming in."

Foley sighed then said "Better get Ramirez.. Marshall will want us to move in with the next wave." Once Allen disappeared into the command post, Foley removed a small crinkled black and white photograph. It was a picture of a simpler time, back when the war was an ocean away when your children didn't have to worry about Russian tanks rolling through your neighborhood. His family never liked the thought of him going to war, but he just couldn't leave his men. Who would lead them? Certainly not Dunn, the man got himself into too much trouble to take a position of leadership. And he wasn't about to leave his men with some green as grass sergeant just trying to get to lieutenant. No, his family may not like the idea of him risking his life on a daily basis but maybe, someday they'd understand. Silently, he refolded the photo and returned it to his vest pocket.

Allen found Ramirez sitting on an upturned crate holding a piece of paper. Allen took a seat next to him, and trying to break the ice asked "Letter from your girlfriend?"

"N-no.." stuttered Ramirez, "It's from my sister.."

"Then what's the problem?" asked Allen, noticing Ramirez's gloomy attitude.

"R-russians.. They're docked in the bay.." said Ramirez.

"Where's she live?"

"San Francisco.." said Ramirez, his voice barely a whisper.

"I'm sure she'll be fine. I mean-" started Allen.

Turning around, Ramirez screamed "How can you be so sure? How do you know?"

"I-I.." started Allen, trying to find the right words but finding none.

"THAT'S RIGHT! You don't know!" continued Ramirez, tears streaming down his face, "You don't know what it's like to have a family member in harm's way! So don't tell me you FUCKING know what's going to happen and who's going to be okay! Don't give me that line of shit!" And with that he snatched up his M4A1 and stormed out into the rain.

Dunn was tired. Tired of killing. Tired of watching families he was sent to escort to safety be gunned down. Tired of watching this once proud city be slowly bathed in blood. He found himself huddled in the corner, not wanting to go out into the rain. Back into the meat grinder. He figured if things kept going as they were he'd have a full head of gray hair by the time he was thirty. But his train of thought was broken by the sound of Ramirez screaming from down the hall, he turned to see what was going on only to see that Ramirez was yelling at Allen. In one swift motion the rookie snatched up his M4 and stormed out into the rain, he could tell that this wasn't the Ramirez he knew. The Ramirez he knew was soft-spoken kid who you couldn't get to swear even if your life depended on it, the kind of person you caught reading anime. The Ramirez he had just seen was in no way shape or form that same individual. This Ramirez had the eyes of a cold blooded killer, the kind you'd see in some special forces elite not an eighteen year old kid straight out of high school. Dunn had never been in the top of his class, but he could tell when people were pissed and needed someone to yell at. In this situation, that person would be him. Sighing, he grabbed his SCAR-H and headed out into the rain. Ramirez had situated himself farther down the trench then Foley who seemed to either not know of the situation or simply figured it best leave the rookie alone.

Settling down next to Ramirez, Dunn said "Look, man. You can't keep that all bottled up inside, it'll eat you from the inside out. So what's got you so pissed?"

"Why? Are you hear to spout bullshit about everything being okay?" asked Ramirez, his eyes narrowed in anger but yet behind that veil of anger were the eyes of a scared little boy.

"What did Allen say that got you so riled up?" asked Dunn, still not understanding what made the kid so mad.

"My sister.. She lives in San Francisco.. You heard the Russian's got ships sittin' right in the bay?" said Ramirez.

"No. Didn't know that." said Dunn, so Allen had pushed the rookie's button's one too many times and now the poor kid snapped. "But look, they've got highly trained Marines stationed up there. The Russians make one move and they'll be dead before they even reach the shore."

"That's the same crock of shit Allen told me!" growled Ramirez, "You're all the fucking same, you know that? And I'm tired of it, you think just because I'm young means that you can just tell me everything's okay and all will be well?"

"No, I.." started Dunn, realizing it was already too late to talk his way out of this jam.

"So how about you tell me the truth.." growled Ramirez, grabbing Dunn by the collar.

"I already did." said Dunn."Don't fucking lie to me!" yelled Ramirez, knocking Dunn to the ground with a swift punch.

"Easy, Ramirez. Calm down. Don't do something you'll regret." said Foley, grabbing the Private's hands to prevent him from lashing out at Dunn anymore.

Ramirez wriggled out of the Sergeant's hands and said "I don't any of your fatherly advice! I'm not five fucking years old!" Then he headed to the far end of the trench.

"Yeah, well you sure act like one." muttered Dunn, rubbing his chin.

Foley just scowled at him.

**What will happen next? Hint, hint. It starts with Of Their Own Accord. Which means I'm almost finished with the campaign. At least for the Rangers, which means I still have to finish the 141's story.. Read and Review, I beg of you!**


	24. Evacuation Order April

**Evacuation Order April**

Private Wells grimaced. He'd gotten stuck with the Washington Monument Evac Site. Of course it was his luck to be stuck with the site that was out in the open and being attacked from every side. The Russians had been trying to breach the perimeter for the past hour, only now they were throwing everything they had at them. It all started when their armored support, an Abrams named Sweet Thang was destroyed.

"RPG!" shrieked Private Alderman, losing his cool with their support gone.

"Negative! Sarge, they got Javelins!" shouted Wells, slapping some sense into Alderman at the same time.

"Take out those launchers! They keep this up and we'll be walking!" shouted Sgt. Bortolucci . "Slayback! How are we coming on loading that bird?"

"Two more and we'll be full, Sarge." returned Corporal Slayback, jamming more people into the Chinook's rear hatch. "You're full! Get the hell out of here!"

"Roger that." returned the pilot, slowly raising the bird into the air. As the helicopter reached about fifty feet, a missile exploded against the side of the chopper.

"Shit! Somebody take out those goddamn rocket launchers!" shouted Bortolucci. "Alderman! Get on the horn and tell them if we don't get some support their will be no evacuation!"

"This is the Washington Monument Evac Site, requesting support. We are pinned down by infantry and light armor. Repeat, requesting support. We are unequipped to deal with this threat." said Alderman, speaking in his calm 'radio' voice which differed from how he was really feeling. "Sarge. They ain't got nothing!"

"Wells! Get over to the CP and tell them that without support we will lose this evac site!" shouted Bortolucci, firing his SCAR-H at the advancing Russians. Wells crawled over the barbed wire and ran across the road towards the CP, he jumped into the trench leading to the entrance and ran as fast as he could. He kicked down a door labeled: Authorized Personal Only, inside he found Colonel Marshall.

"Sir, the evac site is requesting support." said Wells.

"Tell them that none is available." returned Marshall.

"Sir, if we don't get some support the Washington Monument Evac Site will be lost!" shouted Wells, knowing every wasted moment here was a moment his friends could be dying.

"Understood. I will deploy Hunter Two-One to clear the Department of Commerce. That should take some of the pressure off you." said Marshall, "Good luck, son."

"Thank you, sir." said Wells, giving the Colonel a crisp salute before returning to the hell that was outside the bunker. It wasn't what he wanted but it was better then nothing.

"This is Hunter Two-One. We've captured the enemy crow's-nest." said Foley. "Allen! Get on that sniper rifle!"

"You got it." said Allen, mounting the rifle. The .50 cal barked as it's slug shot from the barrel and split a Russian in half. Turning slightly to his left he could see more Russians moving in on the perimeter, four more shots cleared up that problem.

"I don't know who you are, but thank you." radioed Bortolucci, "We owe you many beers."

"More like a case," muttered Dunn, watching the entrance to the crow's-nest.

"This is Hunter Two-One Actual, we've got you covered. Watch out, I see Russians advancing from the west!" radioed Foley, watching troop movements through his binoculars.

"Roger that." returned Bortolucci. "Squad, we've got incoming from the west!"

"Sarge, we got incoming. Armor and air support." said Allen, still picking off targets with the M82. "Their gonna get hammered if we don't take those vehicles out."

"Roger that. Ramirez! Grab a Javelin and take out those vehicles!" shouted Foley, grabbing a Javelin himself. The rocket propelled itself straight up and then came crashing down, destroying the BTR from above.

"Keep up the fire Two-One. We've got another chopper dispatched." radioed Bortolucci, "We're gonna have to leave some of these people behind, we don't have enough birds for all of them."

Wells couldn't believe what he was hearing. His own Sergeant was planning on leaving these innocent people to die.

"Sarge, you being serious?" asked Wells, reloading his SCAR-H.

"'fraid so." Bortolucci said quietly, "Marshall wants us to take the next chopper to help him recapture Whiskey Hotel."

Wells blinked, Whiskey Hotel meant the White House. But he pushed the thought from his mind, they could rebuilt the White House they couldn't rebuild lives. The final Blackhawk landed, and the battle for control of the aircraft began. The Rangers cramming into the chopper the civilians fighting over who got to live and who would get left behind.

"We're too heavy! We can't support all this weight! Somebody's gonna have to get off!" shouted the pilot.

A petite woman raised her hand and said "I'll get off."

But Wells was faster, having already leapt off the Blackhawk. "No way in hell, ma'am. That lighten your load enough?"

"Affirmative. We're barely under the weight limit." responded the pilot.

"Wells! What the hell are you doing?" shouted Bortolucci, noticing that Wells was standing on the ground watching the helicopter rise.

"Sorry, sir. Looks like I missed my flight." said Wells with a wave. He sat down on a sandbag pile and watched the helicopter raise until it was swallowed up by the massive fleet of helicopters flying away from D.C. He sighed, his mama had always taught him to be a gentleman and put women before himself. She'd be happy, after a lifetime of ignoring that aspect of her teachings he'd finally applied it. Sure, it'd likely be the end of him but then he'd be able to see mama again. Then he'd show her what a good grandson he turned out to be. From the top of the Department of Commerce rose another Blackhawk, no doubt carrying Hunter Two-One.

Ramirez gripped the twin handles on the minigun until his knuckles turned white. For once the Rangers were on offense, finally getting some payback. It was almost relaxing to be able to lay waste to the poor little Russians as they tried to escape his deadly high explosive rounds. Flying in a low circle over the World War Two Memorial revealed it to be full of Russian Forces. Atop each of the four towers stood several Russian soldiers, each armed with a RPG.

"Tangos with RPG's! Hold down that trigger 'til they don't get up!" shouted the pilot, leveling off so Ramirez would be able to get a better shot. Ramirez laid into the Russians, destroying chunks of the Memorial as the explosive rounds shredded anyone or anything stupid enough to get into his line of fire.

"Overlord to all units, Evacuation Order April, I repeat! Evacuation Order April! Everyone get the hell outta there!" cackled the radio.

Wells looked up, Evacuation Order April was for a full-scale retreat. He pulled off his helmet and prayed. They'd need an act of god to pull a victory out of this.

"Shit! Was that a SAM?" yelled Dunn, desperately trying to hold onto the helicopter and his lunch.

"Overlord, we're hit, but still in the air. We've got a massive SAM battery at the Department of Justice…we're going in!" shouted Foley, trying to reach command but having no such luck.

Allen wasn't certain this was the best plan of action given their Blackhawk had already taken a hit, in fact he wasn't even sure if Foley was being sane about sending them straight into the SAM battery. It was pure suicide, but Foley was in charge which meant he would have to suck it up and follow his lead. Ramirez was blazing away at any Russian's visible in the windows, he almost seemed to relish in the destruction he was causing.

"We're losing altitude control!" shouted the pilot.

"Take us up! If we're going down, we're takin' those SAM sites with us!" returned Foley.

Once again, Allen was beginning to think that Foley may be trying to get everyone killed. Surprisingly, the pilot obeyed an the chopper ascended. And that's when he saw it. Foley wasn't exaggerating when he said they were facing a massive SAM battery. At least, six SAM launchers were pointed in their direction. Ramirez, try as he may could not destroy all the SAM's before they fired off a missile.

Dunn was barely able to let out a quiet "Shit." Before the helicopter was hit for the second and final time, sending it into an out of control tail spin.

The helicopter hit the pavement, and the whole world went black.

**Of Their Own Accord, rather then describe things you'd see and do by playing the game I decided to bring back Wells to give you an idea of the things going on at the Evac Site.**

**Please Review, I'd greatly appreciate it.**

** Major Mike Powell III, it was Adrian ShephArd. So we were both wrong. Lol.**


	25. Welcome Back

**Welcome Back**

Ghost found himself sitting on the couch staring at the TV, beside him was the maid. Her head was on his shoulder but he was too tired to even care. She sniffed his shirt and then asked "Did you guys go drinking?"

"What? No, I had to borrow a Russian's coat. Bastard, was drunk as could be. You're probably smelling that." said Ghost, concentrating on the TV. Next thing he knew he was being drug, "Where the hell are we going?" he asked, preferring to know where he was being taken.

"To take a bath, you smell like a bar." she said.

"I'm a grown man, I can take care of myself!" he said, struggling against her surprisingly strong grip.

"Oh, really? If that was so you would have washed up two hours ago when you got back!" she said, pulling him into the bathroom and locking the door.

"What the hell did you do that for? Are you going to watch me take a shower or something?" he asked, removing his t-shirt.

"No, I going to give you a bath." she said, grabbing a sponge. "Off with your pants, and that gaudy mask, you can't clean up properly with that on."

"But-" started Ghost.

"No, buts. Pants off now." she commanded.

"Yes, _mommy_." he said, the whole remark heavily coated in sarcasm.

"Welcome back, Private Allen. I see you decided to enter my realm, again." said an odd voice, which could only mean one thing.

"Jackson." muttered Allen, lifting himself up off the ground.

"That's right, it's me." said the ghost, smiling, "Been a long time, miss me?"

"Like the plague." said Allen, cracking his back.

"Oh, looks like he told you, Jacky-Poo." said another voice, this one female.

Allen turned to see another ghost had joined Jackson, this one a female in a pilot's uniform.

"Pelayo, how many times do I have to say that you never interrupt me when I'm talking to the newly-deceased?" said Jackson, sounding like he was telling his sister to leave his room while he did 'boy stuff'.

"You weren't sayin' anything important so I figured it'd be okay to join in." said Pelayo, it was at this point Allen noticed her slight Southern drawl.

"And if I hadn't joined in on that mission to rescue you, I'd still be alive!" shouted Jackson.

"Paul, I.." started Pelayo, and then she burst into tears.

Allen just turned away while Jackson tried to assure her that it wasn't his fault and that he only had himself to blame. If he was seeing the ghost Marine, that meant he was dead. Or, he was losing his mind. Neither one was a particularly appealing answer. Interestingly, instead of the airport like last time this time the setting was that of a Middle-Eastern city. For some odd reason, his vision had taken on a red tint and distant buildings collapsed into dust. Nearby was a downed Sea Knight and a burning playground.

"Where are we?" asked Allen, causing Jackson to look up.

"This is the place I died." said Jackson, solemnly.

"Me too." added Pelayo, wiping away her tears with the back of her glove.

"Along with many others." finished Jackson, behind him now standing a mass of Marines. The thirty thousand killed in the blast. "Do you know who caused this?"

Allen shock his head.

"Shepherd. He knew about the presence of nukes. He knew their would be no way in hell we'd all get clear. He used us as a test, to see how well equipped Al-Asad was. He wasted thirty thousand lives on a gamble!" shouted Jackson, the dead Marines murmuring in agreement.

"Roach, go get Ghost. Tell him we need to get geared up. We're headed to Russia, we've got a nuclear submarine to keep out of Russian hands." said MacTavish, walking out of his meeting with Shepherd.

"So, how'd your meeting go with Shepherd?" asked Roach.

"I didn't meet with him. Price did. Figured he's still my superior." said MacTavish, looking down at the floor.

"You two go way back?" asked Roach.

"Not really. I only knew the man for a week before he went off the gird for five years. This is the first time I've saw him since then." said MacTavish.

"Ok, one last thing before I go. Does this mean I can call you Soap?"

"Not as long as I out-rank you." said MacTavish, patting the shorter soldier on the head. "Now run along. I need to brief Ghost."

Roach finally got to Ghost's room, only to find it empty. He could hear Ghost's voice emanating from the bathroom so he went to the door, only to find it locked. Thankfully, MacTavish had given him the master key for every door in the 141 barracks. What he saw before him was startling.

"Jesus! Did they teach you knock where you come from?" shouted Ghost, his voice filled with anger. The maid was washing his back with a soapy sponge. But this wasn't what startled Roach the most. It was the fact that Ghost wasn't wearing his mask. It was unheard of, the man wore a mask to bed, showered in one, ate in one, smoked in one, everything he did had him wearing a mask. And now he was without one.

"Holy shit! You look like Max Martini!" shouted Roach, trying to find his phone so he could have photographic proof that Ghost actually had a face, a bet he and Meat had going since they first joined the 141. But by the time Roach had retrieved his phone, Ghost had managed to secure his mask.

"Damn.." muttered Roach, putting his phone away dejectedly.

"What the hell are you here for? Certainly not to see me in the nude!" shouted Ghost, the maid still washing his back as if nothing had happened.

"Oh, right. MacTavish wanted me to tell you that we've got a new mission. And he needs to brief you." said Roach, "So you and the maid? Wow, never saw that coming."

"And why's that?" asked Ghost, the maid having moved on to washing his chest.

"I..I didn't know you could love.." muttered Roach, rubbing circles in the floor with his toe, "Especially the maid."

"You mean Natasha?" Ghost asked.

"Who?" asked Roach, shocked to hear a female name being uttered in conversation with Ghost that didn't involve work.

"Natasha. Y'know. The maid." he said, pointing a figure at the maid who only giggled.

"Oh, right. Her. You know, I'm just going to leave you two alone." said Roach, quickly retreating and slamming the door behind him.

"Well, you heard him. I need to go find Soap and get briefed." said Ghost, rising from the tub.

"But Simon.. I haven't washed you all over yet.." whined Natasha.

"You have a point.. Well, he can wait just a little more longer." said Ghost, plopping down in the tub again. "Do you really think I look like Max Martini?"

"Now then, I assume you want to return to the land of the living." said Jackson, dispelling the extra undead Marines.

"That would be greatly appreciated." said Allen, happy to finally be able to leave this annoying place.

"Oh, stop screwing with him Jacky-Poo! You know you can't!" said Pelayo, breaking Allen's brief period of happiness.

"Wait, what? What do you mean I can't return to the living!" shouted Allen, unprepared to live out the rest of his days as a spirit forced to stay with a duo of crazy Marines.

"I mean I have no way of getting you back. You only get one act of god. After that, all up to your buddies." said the ghost.

"What do you mean all up to my buddies?" asked Allen, worried it might be some complicated task that they would have to complete.

"They have to revive you. And it appears the only person available to revive you is one James Ramirez." continued Jackson.

Allen groaned, of course he pissed off the one person available to save him from an eternity stuck with this undead Marine. His day just kept getting worse by the minute.

**Max Martini is a reference to my favorite show, The Unit. Max's character reminds me a lot of Ghost, and is also how I picture Ghost looking. **

**Also, their was some confusion about who Wells was, he was introduced in**

**Chapter 12. He was guarding Raptor.**

**Read and Review, y'all!**


	26. Blinded by the Light

**Blinded by the Light**

MacTavish stood on the landing pad tapping his foot, the helicopter had been idling for the past twenty minutes. He was waiting for one final member of his team to arrive, and for once it wasn't Meat. It was Ghost. MacTavish was beginning to wonder if letting this relationship slide was a good idea, so far it had only caused the team trouble. Ghost was usually an early to anything and always showed up when MacTavish called for him. Finally, a whole twenty-two minutes late, arrived Ghost.

With a frown, MacTavish said "Ghost, we need to talk."

"About what?" asked Ghost, loading his bags into the helicopter.

"It's about Natasha." continued MacTavish, hauling Ghost into the chopper.

Ghost blinked. "What about her, sir?" he asked.

"I told you that I'd let this relationship of your's slide if it didn't interfere with your work. And from what today has shown me, it has." finished MacTavish, giving the pilot the okay sign to take-off. "And now, because you were so late I'll be giving you your briefing on the flight to Russia."

"Sir, I-" started Ghost, trying to explain his mistake.

"We don't have time for this, Ghost. We'll talk about this later." said MacTavish, retrieving his laptop. He turned it around to show Ghost the PowerPoint that Roach had made while they waited. The first slide depicted a nuclear submarine of clearly Russian origins, various notes about the sub ran down the right side of the screen.

Ghost skimmed the data before he asked "We going to destroy the sub?"

"Negative, we're to capture it. After that teams will be deployed to deactivate the nukes." said MacTavish, clicking through the next few slides which contained information of Russian numbers, troop positions, patrol routes, and team insertion points. "I'll be providing intel from up here. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. So I'll be leading this op?" asked Ghost, finally feeling surge of pride on finally leading a mission.

"No. Price will be leading this one." said MacTavish, shutting his laptop.

Ghost groaned. The old man, the one who was in a Gulag the day before would be leading this op. Ghost didn't know much about the man but from what MacTavish had said about the man made him seem almost god-like. But that was five-years ago, the man was bound to be rusty, hell, he probably wouldn't be able to keep up with the resent improvements in equipment. Ghost had to admit it, he had his doubts about Price's role as the team's lead. But he wasn't about to bash MacTavish's hero, so he kept to himself.

Dunn found himself in a no win situation, but then again that was the definition of the campaign so far. Everything that could go wrong had, right now his squad was outnumbered six to one. And to make matters worst, their ammunition was running out. Ramirez was unconscious but alive, Allen on the other hand had no pulse. He slammed another magazine into his SCAR-H before he pulled a small packet out of his pocket and tossed it to Ramirez, who had been awakened by the sounds of gunfire.

"What the hell do I do with this?" asked Ramirez, his attempts at reviving Allen having failed.

"Inject it into a vain! That shit has enough kick to start his heart three times over!" shouted Dunn, laying down suppressing fire with his rifle.

With trembling hands, Ramirez tore open the package and jammed the needle into Allen's arm.

"Huh, didn't see that coming." muttered Jackson, watching the scene unfold from his position above the downed helicopter because he was unaffected by gravity. "Y'know back in my day we didn't have that fancy insta-revive, stuff. All we had was-"

"Shut up, we've all heard this story." said Pelayo, cutting him off mid-sentence. " I figured we'd get some tears out of the noobie. So sad, I bet money he would."

Allen sighed, with any luck the injection would take effect soon and he'd be returned to his body.

Allen's sputtered, coughed, and then he finally sat up. He rubbed his forehead, which revealed a large bruise, no doubt from when he was thrown around in the helicopter. Then he looked out the side door of the Blackhawk and noticed the quantity of Russians advancing on his position.

"Great, I finally get rid of Jackson and now I'll be joining him for eternity." muttered Allen.

"Who's Jackson?" asked Ramirez.

"Take this and stay down!" ordered Private Wade, handing Ramirez an M4A1 Grenadier. And tossing an M9 for Allen. Just as he finished saying this, his head exploded and splattered blood all over Ramirez.

"Should have followed your own advice.." said Allen quietly.

But before he could even get a shot off with the small pistol a Hind flew up and blinded the squad with it's searchlight.

**Yeah, couldn't make Allen's revival not make Ramirez look like some pussy who cried at everything. Plus, World at War had a magic injection that could revive people so I figured with the advances in technology by Modern Warfare 2 stuff like this would be possible.**

**Review, please. I beg you.**


	27. Code Black

**Code Black**

"Wait, wait, Price, no! We have a nuclear missile launch. Missile in the air! Missile in the air! Code Black, Code Black!" shouted Ghost, watching the missile ascend into the cloud cover. Roach was sitting nearby in the fetal position, gently rocking himself.

"Price! What the hell were you thinking?" shouted Ghost, losing his cool over the possibility of nuclear holocaust. Noticing Roach's position, he asked "Roach? Are you alright?"

"Where.. Where is the missile going?" asked Roach, his eyes staring blankly ahead.

"America, I presume. Why? What's the deal?" said Ghost, trying his best by not lash out at the grown man who was huddled in the corner like a baby.

Roach turned to Ghost, his eyes filled with tears "My..My sister went..to America..as a foreign exchange student.." he said.

Patting Roach on the back, Ghost said "I'm sure she'll be fine."

"H-how can you be so sure?"

"Don't you trust me?" asked Ghost, helping Roach to his feet.

"Yes, but-" started Roach, wiping his tears on his sleeve.

"Then trust me on this. She'll be okay. I promise you that." said Ghost, realizing that if she did in fact die that he would lose all the trust Roach had for him.

"G-ghost? C-can I have a hug?" stammered Roach, rubbing his running nose on his sleeve, leaving a streak of mucus on his sweater.

Ghost sighed, he couldn't believe he was doing this. But he went along with it for Roach's sake.

"Aw, cheatin' on your girlfriend." said Meat, climbing to the top of the guard house to see the two soldiers embracing. "I bet she'd love to know you cheated on her, with a Man!"

"You say anything about this and you can kiss that promotion goodbye." snarled Ghost, Meat had been in the running for Staff Sergeant and Ghost had considerable say in the matter. Needless to say, Meat backed off.

Price removed a small flask from his shirt pocket and undid the lid. What he had just done could wipe out a great percentage of the U.S. East Coast, if he had miscalculated in the slightest the missile might not detonate in space where it would only cause an EMP effect. He downed the flask in one gulp and returned it to his pocket, bracing himself for the warm welcome he would receive. Warm being the possibility of a firing squad, what he'd done was technically considered terrorism. He, being the terrorist responsible for launching a nuclear device at the Eastern Seaboard. He crawled out of the sub and back into the cold air of Russia.

Sat1 was having a horrible day. He had been tasked with cleaning some solar panels on the ISS while everyone else sat inside and watched the news about the war.

Whilst he was scrubbing the last panel his radio buzzed, with a groan, Sat1 keyed the device. Whenever someone called it usually was an excuse for him to remain outside away from everyone else, he always given the shit jobs, he decided it was the newest member of the crew.

"Come in, Sat1. This is ISS Control. Houston's requesting a feed from your helmet cam, over. Uh…they want you to look over towards the dark side of the Earth. It should be cresting the horizon about 15 degrees east of the starboard PV arrays." Sat1 looked to his right, he figured all he was looking at would be some massive space rock so he didn't pay much attention, instead he wondered why control didn't just say "Greg, look at some stupid shit that no one cares about,".

"There it is, we're getting your feed Sat1. Come in, Houston, (uh) are you getting this?" continued ISS Control, Sat1 grabbed his rag, content that everyone had seen what needed to be seen so he could get back to work and return to his comfy bed for the night.

"Copy that, ISS, video feed from Sat1 is clear. Sat1, keep tracking the bogey. We're looking into it, standby." said another voice, Sat1 inferred it most be Houston. And then groaned again when he realized that Houston also wanted him to keep watching the stupid rock or whatever it was. Sat1 looked back up to see that the object was now directly in front of him, and leaving a trail of fire, it definitely was no space rock. It almost reminded him of one of those model rockets he played with as a kid, then it hit him. The U.S. was at war with Russia, a rocket of some kind was headed for America and it had come from the East, which was where Russia was located.

"Houston, we're not scheduled for any satellite launches toady are we?" asked ISS Control, Sat1 felt like slapping the man. Sat1 was only a mechanic and he knew that was no satellite, but of course the man with a PhD couldn't tell what the hell it was.

"ISS, Houston. Standby. We may have a problem here." said Houston, Sat1 felt like screaming "It's a fucking nuke! You can't just call that a problem!" but he kept his mouth shut, it wasn't his area of expertise.

"Houston, this is ISS Control, uh…any word on…"

But he was cutoff when the missile exploded, sending a shockwave which turned the ISS into space dust. The last thing Sat1 saw was his helmeted face reflected in a perfectly clean solar panel.

After a day full of unusual happenings, Dunn had finally lost it. He had to pinch himself just to make sure he wasn't imaging that helicopters, fighter jets, and passenger planes were falling from the sky. It turned out, he wasn't dreaming. Which took it from an eight on the fucked up scale to an eleven. They'd managed to evade the rain of helicopters and found themselves hiding in the shelter of a bookstore. While Allen was grabbing spare ammo for his pistol and jamming it into his vest, Dunn finally lost control.

"What the hell are we gonna do now, man? Russians got us out numbered, shit's falling from the sky. We're screwed man! We're totally-"

"Shut up! Get a grip, Corporal! Our weapons still work, which means we can still kick some ass." shouted Foley, cutting Dunn off mid-sentence. "Stay here. Allen, you're with me."

"You're goin' out there? Are you nuts?" asked Dunn, still trying to wrap his head around the whole thing.

The pair headed out the door to find all was quiet, not a single vehicle in the air.

"It's over. Come on, we still have a war to fight." said Foley, waving the others out into the street.

"What the hell happened here?" asked Allen, surveying the destruction caused by the EMP. He'd heard about them but didn't exactly understand how they worked, and now he'd seen one first hand, and still didn't understand how they worked.

"Oh, man it's quiet. Hey is your red dot working? Mine's out." said Dunn, examining his Thermal Scope.

"Mine's down too. This is weird, bro." whispered Ramirez, noticing his Holographic Sight was out.

"Looks like optics are down…comms, too. There's not even a street light for blocks." muttered Foley, noticing how dark it had become. Up ahead laid a Ranger, Foley next to the man and checked his neck for a pulse. But he found none. "Dammit. All right. We gotta regroup with whoever's left out there. Corporal Dunn, take point."

"Hooah." whispered Dunn, out of a building up ahead came a soldier. In the dark it was impossible to tell whether he was a Russian or not. So Dunn decided to use the countersign. "Star! Star, or we will fire on you!" he shouted, aiming down his rifle.

Private Vaughan had never been a fighter, maybe that's why he was stuck running errands for Mashall all the time or as in this case, being a runner. And now he was going to die because the Colonel forgot to give him the countersign before he left. Vaughan was too busy thinking about his impending death to pay attention and so he stumbled.

"I don't remember the damn countersign, alright? I'm just a runner! Don't shoot!" he shouted, struggling to his feet praying that they didn't shoot him for failing to give the proper countersign.

"Well.. He didn't give the proper countersign. Think we should shut him just to be sure he's not a Russian?" asked Dunn, still aiming at the supposed 'runner'.

Foley just glared at him, and waved the runner over.

"The proper response is 'Texas', soldier. What'dya got?" asked Foley.

"Colonel Marshall's assembling a task force at Whiskey Hotel. You guys need to keep heading north." said Vaughan, between gasping for breath. Then he turned to head down the street.

"So where are you goin' then?" asked Dunn, noticing the runner heading away from the fight.

"To tell everyone else! Get to Whiskey Hotel! Go!" shouted Vaughan, and then he disappeared out of sight.

"You heard the man. Let's go." said Foley.

**This is it! The end of the Ranger campaign is almost upon us! But don't worry, those who enjoy the 141 sections, I will finish that as well! **

**So if you don't mind, review!**


	28. Whiskey Hotel

**Whiskey Hotel**

"Whiskey Hotel still has power! If we capture it, we'll be able to contact command and get some support!" shouted Marshall, trying to be heard over the gunfire.

"Understood, you heard the man. We need to secure Whiskey Hotel!" barked Foley, leading his squad across the pot marked front lawn.

"Sarge, isn't kinda risky to send us in the front door? I mean the Russians have mounted MG's and shit all along the roof. We go straight up the middle we'll be wiped out." said Dunn, watching as not inches from his nose 7.62mm rounds were kicking up dirt.

"I know, Corporal." returned Foley, knocking down a Russian who thought it wise to charge ahead, he got a bullet to the brain. "But you heard the Colonel, the White House still has power. Which means we want it back."

"Yeah, no matter how many body bags we need when we're done." muttered Dunn, picking off the occasional Russian when the torrent of machinegun fire died down a bit.

"He has a point." replied Allen, crouched behind a MiG that had crashed into the front lawn. "You think Marshall's trying to win this one by having them burn through their ammo?"

"At this rate? Yes." grumbled Dunn, snatching up a grenade and returning it to it's owner.

"We got any smoke? If they can't see us they can't shoot us." said Allen, crawling through the mud towards a better firing position.

"I don't have any.." said Ramirez, locking another 40mm grenade into his M203.

"Me either." stated Dunn, reloading his SCAR-H.

"Not a one." answered Foley, removing a grenade from his vest. "What about you?"

"What me?" asked Allen, "No, I don't have any."

"Damn." muttered Foley, pulling the pin on his M67.

"Great, the only good plan and it won't work because Marshall didn't think that smoke grenades would be a helpful addition." grumbled Dunn, checking a downed Ranger for smoke grenades and finding none.

"We got no choice. We gonna have to make a run for it." said Foley.

"You have got to be shiting me." returned Dunn, "there are like forty of them and they have the fucking high ground! And we're crossing open ground for christ sake!"

"Shut up, Corporal! If we don't move, we'll be sitting ducks!" shouted the Sergeant, dragging the Corporal to his feet. "NOW GET MOVING!"

Foley gave Dunn a not so friendly push, which put Dunn in the MG's line of fire.

"Are you trying to get me killed?" screamed Dunn, zig zaging across the uneven ground towards the entrance. Dunn stopped under the porch to catch his breath. "I fucking hate you.."

"You made it didn't you?" asked Foley, urging Allen to make the sprint next.

"Yeah, barely!" shouted Dunn, showing three holes in his sleeve that weren't their prior.

"Ah, you're just being a baby." said Foley, regrouping outside the Oval Office. "Dunn, take point."

"Wait, why do I always have to take point? You always make me do it!" shouted Dunn, tried of always being thrown into near death situations first.

"Dunn! We don't have time for this! Open the damn door!" shouted Foley.

"Fine I'll open the goddamn door!" yelled Dunn, gripping the door handle, when he opened the door he found the room beyond strangely empty. He then proceeded to one of the walls and began fiddling with a painting on the wall.

"Please don't tell me you plan to steal that." said Allen, watching Dunn remove the painting.

"Nah, theirs a message. Can't hear it with the stupid picture in the way.. but now that you mention it, I bet this thing would garner a pretty penny at auction." replied Dunn.

"This is…5-1 to friendly units in D.C.-Hammerdown is in effect. I repeat: Hammerdown is in effect. If you are receiving this transmission, you are in a hardened high-value structure. Deploy green flares on the roof of this structure to indicate if you are still combat effective. We will abort our mission on direct visual contact with this countersign." droned the wall mounted speaker, worse it kept running this in loop.

"Sorry Ramirez, but you're combat defective. You won't be popping any flares today." joked Dunn, slapping the rookie on the back.

"Shut up, Corporal. We have to move." said Foley, heading towards one of the Oval Office doors.

"Sarge, what the hell is Hammerdown?" asked Allen, following the rest of the team as they stacked up.

"It means their going to destroy the entire city. They'll bomb it into dust." said Foley, opening the door just enough to see inside, and not liking what he saw. "More Russians. Estimating five."

"So they're going to kill us all if we're too slow?" asked Allen, unpinning an M67 to roll through the door.

"Essentially." said Foley, opening the door while Allen rolled the frag.

"I hate this Army. Too willing to blow up their own men without solid reason. Where the hell's Shepherd? He'd fucking love this!" shouted Dunn, gunning down the surviving Russians, "Room clear."

"Cut the chatter. We're getting close." whispered Foley, leading the team into an outdoor garden area. Careful fire from Allen's M4A1 knocked the three repelling Russians off their ropes, if the bullets didn't kill them the fall would.

"We've only got a minute before those fighters blow this place to kingdom come!" shouted Foley, leading the squad through a hole in the kitchen wall and into a spiral staircase. In a last ditch defense, five Russians stood guard of the stairs leading to the roof.

"Clear these guys out fast! We don't have much time left!" shouted Foley, taking down a Russian with a quick burst from his SCAR-H.

"We're clear! Let's get to the roof!" yelled Allen, ripping a flare off his vest and tossing it to Ramirez. "You're faster then me! Hurry, before they destroy this whole damn place!"

Ramirez ran as fast as he could, popping the flare before he was even on the roof. A fellow Ranger was doing the same, as he waved the flare over his head, three fighter planes passed overhead.

"Damn, we cut that one close." muttered Dunn, realizing if they had stopped for as long as ten seconds they'd be dead. "So when are we going to Moscow? 'Cause I wanna burn the place down when I get there."

"When the times right, Corporal. When the times right." said Foley, looking out over the destroyed city.

"And what time might that be?" asked Dunn, not exactly enjoying Foley's cryptic answer.

"Allen? Can I talk to you?" asked Ramirez, "In private?"

"Look, if you're coming out of the closet I swear I won't tell anyone." said Allen, watching Dunn and Foley engaged over the topic of 'the right time'.

"What? NO! It's not that. I wanted to say I'm sorry." said Ramirez, looking at his boots.

"For what?"

"For snapping at you before. I was just worried about my sister, and everyone kept acting like I was a grade-schooler, I guess I just got fed up of being treated like I wasn't a full member of the team." continued Ramirez, "But everyone kept treating me like I couldn't take care of my self.."

"Who ever said you weren't a part of the team?" asked Allen, looking back towards Dunn.

"No one, but I could always tell that I wasn't getting the same respect as everyone else."

"Look, Ramirez. You got it wrong, no one respects you any less. Hell, Dunn gets less respect then you do. Besides, Dunn acts like you're his brother, and Foley acts like you're the son he never had. Everyone's accepted your position in this unit except you." said Allen.

"Wait, Dunn gets less respect then me?" asked Ramirez, not exactly understanding how that was so.

"Have you ever spent a weekend with the guy? You can't respect a him after what I've seen him do in his off time, but I trust him with my life. Hypocritical, is that the right word for it?" said Allen, "Come on, 'hero'. You just saved D.C. let's go grab a beer, it's on me."

"But I'm not 21 yet…"

**And the official Rangers campaign is over. Hopefully, this is up to everyone's expectations. If not, I am truly sorry. Also, because someone complained about the use of in game dialogue, so I cut it down in this chapter.**

**Read and Review or I will initiate Hammerdown Protocol on you!**


	29. Questionable Methods

**Questionable Methods**

Shepherd sighed, so it had come to this. Makarov was prepared to tell the whole world of their secret working relationship. He should have known the man couldn't be trusted, but he needed someone driven by greed, someone willing to lash out at the world. He had to admit he'd found the right man, but now his motives were more shady then before. Shepherd had been mulling over this the entire trip, Makarov couldn't expect to get any monetary benefit from disclosing the work he and Shepherd had done. But recovering the data off of Makarov's computer would prevent him from being able to tie Shepherd to his dealings. Shepherd was currently the most powerful man on the planet, so without exceptionally solid proof, Makarov would have no chance of revealing what he had done.

Makarov smirked to himself, it had been too easy drawing Shepherd in. He was like a moth to flame, he would gravitate towards it, no matter the danger. Attempting to steal his data was a last minute attempt to protect his carefully crafted reputation. But no matter how well something was built it could always be destroyed, Shepherd was no exception. When he would look over the data on his DSM, he would find no data. Makarov had made sure to remove his own computer and leave a blank in it's place. And if all went as planned, Shepherd would be nothing more then a stain on his lawn.

"Sir, I've spotted them on Thermal." said the co-pilot of the Pavelow. "There they are. You getting this, Frank?"

"Roger that. Maybe the Russians will kill 'em for us?" asked 'Frank', pilot of the other Pavelow.

"Not likely, they're in the 141. This is a milk run for 'em." replied the pilot. "We ain't taking no chances, Team-3 prepare to deploy. Protect Gold Eagle at all costs."

"Roger that. Team-3 disembarking." barked Team-3's squad leader. "Move it ladies! We ain't got all day! Five meter spread, fire maneuver Oscar Delta!"

"Hoohah!" came the chorus of Soldiers spreading out in an arc in front of Shepherd.

Ghost was tired. It had been a tough week but the end was in sight. He just had to reach the bottom of this hill in one piece and it'd all be over. He could go home to his nice warm bed, grab a beer, and sit with his woman on the back porch of the barracks. A large explosion caused him to stumble, he turned back to see that Roach was lying on the ground, clutching his side. Ghost crawled over to him and started dragging his limp body towards the field, the first Pavelow already landing. As the Pavelow opened to reveal Shepherd, Ghost drug Roach to his feet.

Shepherd knew what he had to do but it almost pained him to do it. The masked man looked as happy to see Shepherd as possible while wearing a ski mask adorned with a Skull. The young sergeant was clutching his side, which had a piece of razor sharp shrapnel protruding from it.

"Do you have the DSM?" asked Shepherd, already reaching to grab his revolver.

"Yes, sir! It's right here!" returned Ghost, supporting most of Roach's weight. The boy was too trusting, it was sad he'd never get to learn the error of his ways until it was too late. "Good. That's one less loose end." The magnum exited it's holster and the bullet collided with the sergeant's chest, the felling of shooting him reminded him of when he had to kill his dog after it got rabies. It was a mercy kill, he turned his magnum to Ghost and fired while the lieutenant was more worried about his friend who had a hole the size of his fist in his chest, then his own safety. Shepherd snatched the DSM out of Roach's hands and could barely hear the sergeant whisper "Why?" If Shepherd was a lesser man it would have made him feel a tad sympathetic but Shepherd felt nothing as he ordered two of his men to dispose of the bodies.

"Shepherd betrayed us." whispered Soap, looking out over a mass of dead 141 members, among them Worm, Meat, Royce, Scarecrow, Ozone, and now, Roach and Ghost. How many more were dying in other corners of the globe?

"You have to trust someone to be betrayed, Soap. I never did." said Price, surveying an equally large pile of Shadow Company soldiers. The 141 had fought valiantly, but their were too many. "We need to leave or we'll be next."

"How can you act like nothing has happened? Surely, you of all people would understand what it's like to lose everyone you ever knew!" shouted Soap, losing control over his emotions, something he always tried to keep in check.

"I know. But you if we don't live, their sacrifice will be in vain. Shepherd's story will become written and ours will be lost forever. Don't make these men die for nothing."

"But they've already died for no reason! No reason at all!" shouted Soap, his head in his hands.

"I know, Soap. I know." whispered Price, putting a hand on Soap's shoulder.

"Commence the attack, now." whispered Makarov, watching as Shepherd lit two of his lapdogs on fire. And they called me crazy, thought Makarov.

"Affirmative. Detonating the explosives, now." said another voice, a massive fireball blocking out the rest of his words.

"Makarov grinned as his troops charged from the tree line. The Americans turned to fire on their attackers only to be taken out by well hidden bouncing betty land mines.

"Protect Gold Eagle at all costs! Lay down a base of fire on the tree line!" shouted one of the American squad leaders, as he took a step to his right to urge one of his men forward a disc-like device leapt from the ground. "Shit! Bouncing B-" The explosion cutting him off and shaving the top two-thirds of his body off.

"We're in a fucking minefield!" yelled one of the soldiers, firing his SCAR-H in a valiant attempt to make his life of value to Shepherd.

"Gold Eagle is hit! I repeat, Gold Eagle is hit!" shouted one of the sergeants, throwing himself on the General to cover him with his own body.

Ghost slowly let the M9 fall from his hand. He'd done what he could to end the lunatics reign of terror. Hopefully, shock and blood loss would do the rest. He crawled over to Roach and began trying to administer first aid for his wounds. To his right lay a cigar butt, he shivered at the thought of what Shepherd planned to do, if it hadn't been for Makarov's men they would have been burned alive.

"Ghost, did you..did you kill him?" asked Roach, his voice weak, blood staining his sweatshirt.

"I can't be sure. I..I shot him, that's for sure." replied Ghost, applying a compression to Roach's chest wound.

"Are you gonna be okay?" asked Roach, pointing out the large blood stain on Ghost's shoulder.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. It's just a shoulder, I've been through worse." muttered Ghost, injecting Roach with morphine. "Besides, you can't kill what's already dead."

Roach just smiled and slipped into unconsciousness.

Shepherd looked out the window of the Pavelow and winced. Not because the medic was jabbing him with syringes full of god-knows what but because he had failed to think that Makarov might have an ambush prepared for him.

"We just gonna leave them behind?" asked one of the pilots, watching the group of Shadow Company soldiers diminish in numbers one by one.

"Yeah, they knew what they were getting into when they signed up." returned the other pilot.

"I guess, but I mean we didn't even try to evac them.." said the first pilot.

"You keep questioning commands and you'll find yourself dead by morning. Shepherd's got our back, he won't let us down." said the second pilot.

The pilot had a point, Shepherd would not tolerate disrespect. A good soldier would know better then to question orders. Those men had done their duty and died like true heroes, maybe once this war was over he'd erect a monument in their honor.

Makarov whistled as he took in the glory of his victory. His men had managed to kill Thirty Two of Shepherd's men at the cost of only four of their own. That was considered a victory in his book, the men lost in the battle at the estate were some of his lesser trained troops, they could be replaced.

"Sir, we have located two survivors." said Anatoly, jogging up to Makarov. His AK-47 hanging from a strap around his neck.

"Kill them at once and dispose of the bodies." said Makarov, turning back to his proud army which were in the process of looting the Shadow Company corpses.

"But sir, they are not with the Americans. They are from the other group." piped Anatoly, he was one of the few who Makarov would not kill for questioning orders.

"Let me talk to them." said Makarov, heading over to where one of his soldiers guarded two prisoners.

Ghost stared straight into the face of Vladimir Makarov. If it wasn't for his Ski Mask he would have spit in the bastard's face. He watched as the terrorist moved over to the still body of Roach, "Stay the hell away from him!" growled Ghost.

"I merely which to see to it that your friend is sent to a doctor of appropriate skill. We would not want your friend to die, now do we?" asked Makarov, a sick smile on his face.

"Why don't you just kill us now, Makarov? Save the effort?" asked Ghost, watching as a medic began tearing Roach's bandages away and replacing them with new.

"Because, I cannot use you as a bargaining chip if you are dead." said Makarov, a sinister smile on his face.

**Of course it had to be a cliffhanger, just like every other Modern Warfare ending! So the TF-141 campaign has come to a close! Please Read and Review! **


	30. Aftermath

**Aftermath**

Things had calmed down in the week since the invasion of Washington D.C. Sure, everyday you left the comfort of the base did you run the risk of losing your head to a crazed Russian who'd been holding out but the risk was getting less everyday. It was Friday, which happened to be the Squad's day off so the group found themselves sitting in a small pub enjoying a few beers.

"I can't believe they took away my stripes." grumbled Dunn, rubbing his sleeve where his Chevrons were. He'd been promoted to Sergeant after the battle, but had lost the extra stripe after he'd stolen a case of Marshall's 'lemonade'.

"Well, you shouldn't have stolen Marshall's booze." replied Allen, taking a sip from his beer. "Com'on, Ramirez. Are you going to drink it or just stare at it all day?" he asked, referring to the still full beer sitting in front of the Private. Just as Ramirez took a swig of the drink, an MP marched up.

"Private, how old are you?" asked the MP, in his gravely voice.

"Look, man. We're just here for a few beers we ain't here to cause trouble or nothing." said Dunn, raising his beer.

The MP glared at him, "Are you a Private or is he not able to answer for himself?"

"Uh, I.." started Ramirez, unsure of how to explain this whole situation.

"He's with me." said Foley, "He's my son."

"Your son?" asked the MP, not noticing any resemblance between the two.

"Yes, he's my son. My _adopted_ son." said Foley, lying through his teeth. "I gave him consent. Doesn't that make it legal?"

The MP grumbled and then tromped away.

"Told you we got your back." said Dunn, slapping Ramirez on the back.

"In other news, the body of General Adrian Shepherd was found last Friday. Based on evidence discovered at the crime scene, responsibility falls on two men. John Price and John 'Soap' MacTavish, both are considered armed and highly dangerous. If you have any information please contact-" The TV then went black.

Soap sighed, "Can't believe this, now we're higher on the most wanted list then Makarov.."

"Oh, the irony." muttered Price, tossing the remote to Nikolai.

**And so it ends. Special thanks to everyone who reviewed! It's been thirty long chapters but it's finally over. I hope everyone's enjoyed the ride, it's been a real trip!**

**Review if you please.**


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